


if i were you, then i'd stop talking ('cause soon you'll be a dead man walking)

by ASOCIAL CLIMBER (maxxxined)



Category: I Don't Know How But They Found Me (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Angst and Tragedy, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Biting, Blood and Gore, Cannibalism, Coma, Dismemberment, Established Relationship, Horror, Hospitalization, Hospitals, Injury Recovery, M/M, Memory Loss, Mental Health Issues, Parasites, Prosthesis, Psychological Horror, Separation Anxiety, Therapy, Zombie Apocalypse, Zombies, this is still a love story people
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:13:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 57,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25850380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maxxxined/pseuds/ASOCIAL%20CLIMBER
Summary: A perilous virus sweeps Dallon and Ryan's hometown, turning everybody in its path into a mindless corpse. It strikes quick, transmitted between body liquids in the form of biting or scratching, a tiny parasite that takes over the human mind.If only Dallon hadn't kicked Ryan out of the house that night.
Relationships: Ryan Seaman/Dallon Weekes
Comments: 41
Kudos: 35





	1. Part 1 - i don't care what momma says (you'll wind me up or you'll wind up dead)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, listen up. I love zombie apocalypse stories as much as the next guy, but lets admit, they can get pretty gross. I'll be putting TWs accordingly with each chapter, but before you start reading, I'm going to say this:
> 
> If you have a sensitive stomach, or are grossed out easily, maybe this fic isn't for you. I promise, I won't be mad if you don't read <3
> 
> But!! This fic does have a happy ending, so if you're fine with the first warning, I promise it does end well :)

**\- DALLON -**

"You know what, Ryan? Get out."

Dallon knew the words coming out of his mouth weren't what he truly wanted to say. But the anger blistering inside him made it hard to apologize, especially when Ryan slammed the door behind him on his way out.

Dallon didn't want Ryan to leave. What he really wanted was an apology, a sorry for all the stress he'd caused Dallon in the last twenty four hours, even if it was a half-assed one.

When Ryan came home smelling of booze and secondhand cigarette smoke, the storm that had been brewing inside Dallon finally opened its skies. He lashed out at Ryan for being so careless, for leaving and going to get drunk when they had a show the next day, for making Dallon sit at home with an uneasy stomach because Ryan wouldn't answer his phone.

Dallon knew he shouldn't have kicked Ryan out, but they were the first words that came to mind, and they slipped out of his mouth so easily. The whole reason Dallon was mad was because Ryan had disappeared into nowhere, just as he always did, but right now, Dallon didn't want to see him. He didn't want to hear the scuff of his boots on the porch, the way he plodded down the stairs angrily, or the absence of the car starting. Dallon didn't care that he was only going for a walk- in fact, the worrisome part of Dallon was glad he wouldn't be gone very far.

Because in the end, no matter how much Ryan pissed him off with his carelessness, Dallon would always worry where Ryan was going. While most people Dallon's age thought they were turning into their fathers, Dallon was turning into his mother, sitting at the rickety kitchen table alone and wringing his hands in concern.

With a sigh that came from the depths of him, the type of sigh that made his shoulders cave in and chest deflate, Dallon landed right back at that shoddy kitchen table and buried his head in his arms. There was nothing much else to do, other than to wait for Ryan to come back home so they could talk.

But talking never fixed their issues. Whenever Dallon would scold Ryan about leaving to go drink, the words would go in one ear and out the other, and a few days later the whole ordeal would begin again. Dallon didn't know why Ryan always needed to escape- their relationship was on good terms most of the time, and their music careers were beginning to take off. There was nothing else Dallon could possibly do to help Ryan and more than he had, and some nights, when he'd feel Ryan stumble into bed fully clothed, Dallon would wonder why he even tried anymore.

Being with Ryan was by far the best part of Dallon's life, but it was too tiresome nowadays. Ryan had never decided to grow out of his partying phase, and Dallon was left to pick up the pieces when Ryan would come home drunk at 2AM, unable to string together proper sentences.

Dallon sunk deeper into the wooden chair, ears straining to hear Ryan's thick-soled boots stomping up the porch steps, or the door creaking as he'd throw it open and fall into Dallon's arms, an apology on his alcohol drenched lips. But the sound never came, causing Dallon's heart to speed up, pounding away in his ears.

Whenever Ryan went for a walk to cool off, he was never gone for more than a few minutes, returning with a level mind and less stomach acid than he'd left with. Dallon would take care of him for the rest of the night, settling into bed next to Ryan with a heavy heart and a tight chest, wondering if Ryan would ever grow out of it like everybody else had.

Standing up with tired bones, Dallon made his way over to the couch and sunk into the cushions, rubbing his temples in distress.

He hoped Ryan was okay. Sometimes he got himself into trouble without even knowing it, and while Dallon used to love that quality in him, it was getting tedious now. He was sick of busting Ryan out of situations he shouldn't even be in in the first place, like ending up in a closed mall with no recollection of how he got there, or sleeping at some random person's house.

Dallon was feeling less and less like a boyfriend and more and more like a parent. Tonight, when Ryan stumbled through the door wearing someone else's jacket, it was finally too much.

"Where were you? I was worried." Dallon said firmly, but his concern still crept into his voice, cracking on the last word. Being strong was a mask Dallon wore- he could never let Ryan see how much he upset him when he wouldn't respond for hours, especially if they had somewhere to be the next day.

"I was out." Ryan answered plainly, tossing the car keys into the dish with a clink and settling down into the dip of the couch. It wasn't even their couch; the red and burgundy pattern had faded, leaving it a gross orange-grey colour, drops in the cushions where someone else had sat for years before they got it. Everything in their house was hand-me-downs, from either of their parents, tacky curtains and lamp rods that nobody could appreciate.

The nonchalance of Ryan's respond was enough to spark frustration in Dallon's chest, but he stuffed it down as he usually did, ignoring the sudden heat of his skin. "I know you were out- you were out for hours. You're always out. When are you going to stick around here for once?"

_'Don't you love me?'_

Dallon didn't add the last part, even though it was something he pondered day and night. Did Ryan leave because he didn't like being around Dallon anymore?

That thought stung at Dallon's most sensitive heart stings, threatening to snap them with its harshness. Dallon loved Ryan more than anything, but what if Ryan didn't return those feelings anymore? Was Dallon boring to be around?

"Chill, I was just out with some friends." Ryan murmured, turning on the TV and flicking through the channels. Something urgent was on, but Dallon couldn't be bothered to pay attention, not when his anger only grew warmer, closer to his heart.

"You're always out with friends. I miss being out with you."

_'I thought we were friends.'_

Dallon closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to ease the vile words that bubbled up in his throat. Now wasn't the time to get mad at Ryan-

But he'd had enough. Dallon was sick of being calm when Ryan did something wrong, and this was the last thing Dallon could take, especially tonight.

Instead of ordering in, Dallon had cooked dinner for Ryan after a day at the practice studio, waiting for him to come home from wherever he'd disappeared to. Hours passed, and by the time the sun had burned a hole in the atmosphere and dipped beneath the horizon, leaving the sky coated in navy, Ryan still wasn't home. The food grew cold, and Dallon ate alone, staring at the back of an empty chair and swallowing down each bite with bitterness in his throat.

"I'm sick of it Ryan, why can't you grow up for once?" Dallon spat, yanking the remote out of Ryan's hand and staring down at his shocked face. The red glow of the alert on the TV shone in the highlights of Ryan's wide eyes, like he was honestly surprised at Dallon's words.

"I have grown up! You're the one who's still scared of everything..." Ryan mumbled the last bit under his breath, jumping up from his spot on the couch to match Dallon's stance. Even with all the extra height, Dallon was still intimidated by the crease between Ryan's eyebrows, eyes fixed in rigid loathing like they never had been before.

"You know what, Ryan? Get out." Dallon's voice was sharp and severe, watching as Ryan's turquoise hair vanished into the darkness of the night, head whipping back once to glare at Dallon with betrayal in the chocolate pools of his eyes.

Even though a curtain of pity fell over Dallon's heart at those eyes, he slunk back into the house and ate the rest of Ryan's dinner, a sour taste in his mouth as he washed down the meal with whatever white wine was left in their fridge. It was the only alcoholic drink Dallon allowed himself to have, which only begun after dealing with Ryan's recklessness.

The fact that they had a show tomorrow was only worsening Dallon's frustration, running his hands through his hair as the television flickered, lowering himself deeper into the cavern where Ryan had just sat.

Dating a band mate was something people warned him against, but all those years ago Ryan was everything Dallon loved, and maybe a bit more. He was funny, charming and amazing at playing the drums- some days he even outperformed Dallon at the bass, but that only made Dallon fall further in love.

The Brobecks were riddled with unluckiness, forced to disband when everyone left, including Ryan. For years, Dallon kept track of his career, watching him prosper in another band without Dallon. Even though jealously hollowed out Dallon's chest, he knew one day Ryan would return and they could go back to making music, just the two of them.

That day had come a few months ago, when Ryan was fired from his old band and in return, clung to Dallon. Not that Dallon minded; it was a blessing that Ryan had returned, moving in alongside Dallon as their relationship flourished, just as their music careers did. The band had succeeded enough that they were playing shows more often now, and luckily, the one tomorrow was in their hometown.

It was fine when Ryan went out when they were in other town or state; Dallon encouraged him to explore, while he dealt with preparing everything for the next day. All Dallon had wanted throughout their relationship was to make Ryan feel loved and validated, so he always tried his hardest to deal with everything stressful while Ryan went out and had fun. He knew what abuse he'd suffered in his past band, even though they were much more popular than iDKHOW could ever dream of being, so Dallon always tread lightly on the topic of anything related to making music.

But tonight was one of the rare nights they had to themselves, and Dallon had gone all out, making Ryan his favourite dish because he knew how stressful playing at home could be. Every night when they played in Utah, Dallon would watch Ryan out of the corner of his eye as he scanned the room, hoping that his parents would show at least once, but they never did.

Dallon knew how much Ryan thrived off their praise, and how deflated his self esteem became when they couldn't care enough to show up to their concerts. So in hopes of cheering Ryan up enough to face the absence of his parents tomorrow, he spent all afternoon in the kitchen, assuring that everything was perfected while Ryan went out on his own. It was important that they both lead their own lives, but some tiny part of Dallon knew they should be spending more time together than they were now, which was basically none.

The news was so absolutely blaring Dallon could no longer let his mind wander, focusing on the red and white words running across the screen in a serious font. It was so lucid it gave Dallon a headache, all his thoughts about Ryan's antics lost to the intense voice of the crisply dressed female news broadcaster, glossy black hair falling over her navy blazer.

"In breaking news, health experts declare a sudden state of emergency as an uncontrollable virus sweeps the greater Utah area." Her eyes flitted off screen for a moment before returning back to the camera, now filled with a fear, covered in a thick layer of fame bravery. "This virus, which health experts n-named TXPO after the- the-"

She was clearly beginning to stumble over her words, eyes continuously darting off screen to monitor something that was happening outside the news studio, only causing Dallon to lean in more and try to decipher what she was saying.

"A-After the toxoplasmosis the infected go through, a-an evolved version we've never seen before. TXPO is said to be transmitted between bodily fluids, such as saliva and blood, and the infected are said to be in a state of rapid decay of health." She finally cleared her throat, ridding her voice of the warbling the coating of anxiety caused, something Dallon could relate to. "Infected patients are reported to be aggressive and actively attacking and infecting those in clean health, using violent methods such as biting and scratching. We advise you to stay inside, to lock all windows and doors and to remain calm. If you or a family member is infected, please-"

The television's picture froze on the woman's face, before crackling and displaying a few moments of static, and then, the infamous bars of colour with a message on them.

_'PROGRAMMING INTERRUPTED, WILL BE BACK MOMENTARILY'_

Dallon stared at those bright bars of colour in awe, jaw going slack, disbelief stirring up a flurry of worries and concerns in his brain.

Yeah, he'd known some sort of virus had been accumulating for a while, but Dallon never thought it'd reach Utah, let alone their shitty little collage town. The news seemed straight out of some dystopian novel, dizziness bleeding throughout Dallon's head as he shot up, vision warping for a moment before it came back.

He rushed over to the window with a frantic mind, hand fumbling to fish his phone out of his back pocket, shaking so badly he could barely see the numbers on the screen.

Nothing looked out of the ordinary outside- night had cast a safe type of mystery over their street, the type that Dallon used to love to chase, spending all his fresh summer nights outside gazing at the stars. In the distance Dallon could hear a car alarm wailing, waiting for someone to relieve it of its cry, but the honking never went out.

If Dallon squinted and ignored the rapid beat of his heart, he could make out someone staggering down the street, identity lost to the blanket of shade. They looked like any average drunken person from the way they walked, adopting a limp as they disappeared into an alleyway, only furthering Dallon's ragged breathing.

The news said not to be outside- Ryan was outside, alone, angry at the world. Dallon knew the type of carelessness that came when Ryan was angry, and Dallon couldn't have him getting sick, not when they had a show to play.

Dallon's hands fumbled on his phone as he typed in Ryan's number, screen streaked with the sweat from his thumbs, eyes glancing back up out the window to observe their quiet street. Whoever was stumbling around at this hour had completely disappeared, leaving some relief in the place of Dallon's anxiety, holding the phone to his ear and muttering for Ryan to pick up.

But a buzz from the other room cut through the deafening silence, Ryan's Cage the Elephant ringtone filling the house with music, careful strums to the guitar coming from the phone.

Ryan left his phone here. Of course he did.

At the sound of the music, Zero, Dallon's dog, jumped up from her spot on the ground and scrabbled at Dallon's legs, whimpering loudly. She recognized that ringtone, the one that played every time Ryan wasn't here to coddle her, when he'd leave his phone at home in the flurry of his anger.

Even though she was technically Dallon's dog, they both knew she favored Ryan over him. He was always there to feed her the extra scraps off his plate, or to cradle her in his arms when she'd get too tired to walk, while Dallon rolled his eyes and carried the empty leash behind them.

"It's okay Zero, Ryan's okay." Dallon hated the shakiness of his voice, clearing his throat just as the news broadcaster had in an attempt to steady it. "He's gonna be okay."

But Dallon knew he was blatantly lying; Ryan very well could be dead by now. He felt idiotic for letting Ryan go out like this, completely blind to whatever was happening on the news, praying Ryan wouldn't run into any infected people and get himself sick before their concert.

Dallon didn't quite understand what that news broadcast had been about. A new virus? Like what, the flu? Or something worse like Ebola? And how transmittable was it- i. e. could Ryan catch it tonight and still be fine by tomorrow?

He had to steady his train of thought, instead of letting it run off the track and crash land in a fiery death. Ryan was smart, or at least smart enough to keep himself out of harm's way. Any moment now he'd walk through that door with a tired grin he'd try to hide, giving Dallon a big hug and apologizing, and for the rest of the night they could be together.

That moment never came, not even when Dallon stared the door down with all his might and prayed to whatever higher power was out there that Ryan would come walking through with a smirk and a pitiful look in his eyes.

As if Dallon's wish had been granted, the sound of someone climbing their porch stairs filled Dallon's ears, all the blood in his body rushing to his head as he grabbed onto the back of the couch for balance.

Phew, Ryan was home and safe. It was a miracle, something that made Dallon's shoulders fall and his grip on his phone loosen. At the sound of a slow knock, Dallon walked over to the front door and turned the handle, expecting Ryan to greet him with a hug.

When he swung open the door, the person standing there wasn't Ryan. They weren't even a person anymore, skin faded and grey, some of it peeling off their cheek with a gross pink. Their gender wasn't distinguishable, half of the hair on their head matted and torn over, skull covered in red dots and bumps that could not be healthy.

Dallon wasn't proud of the high-pitched squeak that escaped his lips as he slammed the door shut on their outstretched hand immediately, all the air heaving out of his lungs.

Oh fucking lord, oh hell no. The door had shut around their wrist, and somehow had... cut off their hand, which was laying limp on the hazel wooden floor, blood caked around the fingernails. Dallon clamped his hand over his mouth and fought back a gag, grabbing onto the back of the kitchen chair and steadying himself, stomach convulsing in disgust and nausea.

What was that- that- _thing_? Dallon felt like crying out in terror, just as he used to when he was little and saw a shadow on his bedroom wall. Except shadows weren't exactly real, and this thing was so real its evidence was left on Dallon's floor in the shape of a _hand_.

He most definitely didn't want to look at it again, but Dallon's eyes found themselves wandering back to it as he breathed heavily, knees quivering beneath him. A wedding ring was the most lively thing on that decapitated hand, shining a bright gold while the rest of the hand looked positively dead, some of the grey skin around the thumb ripped up to reveal the bone inside.

How- How did that even happen? How did Dallon manage to slam a door shut so hard it cut off some creature's clammy hand, which made his stomach lurch every time he looked at it, unable to stop observing it out of terrified curiosity.

Unless Dallon had gained super strength overnight, it wasn't him who was responsible for the frail nature of this thing's wrist. It must've been that weak to have its hand cut cleanly off- no blood had even been shed, like it popped out of its socket with no difficulty.

"Ohh... Zero, n-no." Dallon groaned out as Zero neared the hand to smell it, scampering away on tiny stick legs at Dallon's command.

Was that what the sickness caused people to turn into? Connecting the symptoms described on the news to what he'd seen on that thing, it was pretty close.

Rapid decay of health. That thing was already halfway in its grave, life decayed so much its age went into the negatives. They were dead, and Dallon was sure of it.

What was a dead person doing standing at his door?

And where the hell was Ryan. Dallon couldn't let the only person he'd ever loved be turned into whatever the hell that was, not when they'd just had a fight. He'd never forgive himself if something happened to Ryan, all because Dallon kicked him out of the house.

Locking the door behind him, Dallon took the stairs two at a time and found his father's old safe in the closet at the end of the hallway, fumbling to remember the code.

79-85-2

It opened with a click, revealing the one thing Dallon needed to brave whatever the hell was out there. Well, not the only thing, but it was his greatest chance at a weapon.

Sometimes, living in America had its perks. Now was one of those times as Dallon pulled out the pistol with shaky hands, checking how many rounds were left in there.

It was step one of his list of things he needed to collect before leaving the house, commencing his search for his boyfriend.

Because Ryan was out there alone, with nothing to defend himself with. And if this virus truly was as dangerous as the news said it was,

Dallon needed to find Ryan before it found him first.

**\- RYAN'S INNER DIALOGUE -**

Fuck Dallon. All he sees me as is a stupid teenager, when I'm only three years younger than him. Just because he's older doesn't mean he has immediate superiority, okay?

He doesn't even understand why I'm gone so often. I can't stand to be around him anymore. Every time I look at him all I can think about is Ronnie's stupid voice, berating me for playing something wrong. That's the thing with lead singers- none of them care about the drummer in the slightest.

That's why I leave Dallon alone so often. It stings to be around him, even though he's never said the same things Ronnie has, but I know someday he will. Everybody does eventually.

And today, he got dangerously close. I know we have a show tomorrow. He treats me like an idiot, but I actually enjoy playing music with him; why would I want to be miserable at a show?

He's always like this before a show, especially when it's at home. I don't understand what about being in our own house makes him want to stay home all the time, when there's so much more we could be doing.

It still shocks me how we even ended up dating in the first place- me and Dallon couldn't be any more different. He never wants to go to bars, or to try new things, or to do anything with me except for sitting at home like old people.

Gah, old people. I never want to get old, but nowadays that's all Dallon is focused on, getting older and settling down. Hell, we eat dinner at five now. That's why I ditched him tonight for a bunch of losers.

I really wasn't that drunk when I got home, but Dallon treated it like I was already passed out on the floor. He always does that, treats me like I can't handle my own, like I need him to take care of me twenty-four seven. Whatever's left of his parents DNA in him is surfacing more and more often, and I sure as hell don't like. It only reminds me of my own parents and their stupid rules.

All night my phone had been buzzing like crazy with alerts, probably some for missing kid or a thunderstorm. Something funny has been hanging in the air lately, some sort of humidity, or mist of some kind. Makes deciding when to go out harder, that's for sure.

So I put down my phone and decided to check the news to see what the weather was doing. Dallon was growling about something in my ear, but it was hard to focus on him when the TV was screaming with red, words flashing past too fast for my mind to keep up with. I said I wasn't _that_ drunk, didn't mean I wasn't hanging onto a buzz.

The entire thing made my eyes hurt, trying to figure out what they were seeing. All I wanted was the weather, not this shit about some virus I didn't understand. Something about people appearing inebriated, or falling into a trace-like state, or some science crap like that.

Then Dallon was grabbing the remote out of my hands and getting mad at me from out of nowhere, just like he always does. In fact, I was glad he kicked me out of the house. I didn't want to be around him anymore, not when he was acting all righteous like he's a saint. Just because you don't drink doesn't mean you're perfect, Dallon. I'm so sick of his holier-than-thou personality.

Outside, that weird feeling still clings to the air, making me sweat inside whoever's jacket I'm wearing. The day is long gone by now, moon hanging in the middle of the sky, the only person around to see me stomp down the sidewalk. At this moment right now, I hate Dallon more than anything, especially because he's getting closer to acting like Ronnie.

I thought that after I was fired everything would turn out okay. I thought I'd be free from everything I'd been told, that I'm a terrible drummer and can't sing for shit. I never thought that Dallon would ever say the same things that Ronnie did, but every time he chastises me, it's all I can hear.

I was fine in The Brobecks. We were all fine in The Brobecks, but that band was never going to end up anywhere. That's why we all had to eventually leave Dallon, and back then, I didn't even know what my feelings for him were. He had been nothing more than a friend back then, some guy I jammed with and nothing more.

But he was there when Ronnie fired me, like he knew I'd come back eventually. Dallon was the only person who wanted to be around me, to take me into his house and to start an actual relationship. Although, these days, it feels like Dallon regrets it.

It feels like nobody wants me.

Whatever's in the air is sort of comforting, like it's meant to settle in my lungs. It's the opposite of dust- it's more welcoming, easy to breathe in as I inhale deeply, calming whatever bundle of anger lives inside me right now.

Dallon's given me everything I have, and I should be more grateful. But I don't think I can face him right now, not when I'm still kinda tipsy, and my balance is hard to keep. The darkened sidewalk is like a tightrope, and my feet keep slipping off into the grass, everything too far away to interpret. Somewhere in the distance a car alarm is droning on, but no owner is alive to shut it up.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spot something rustling in the bushes that accompany the sidewalk, but I can't be bothered to care. It's not like I haven't been there before, too drunk to walk properly, sleeping in the bushes into Dallon finds me and takes me home. Besides, it's too dark out to even make out who this person is, if they're even someone.

Could be one of the neighborhood cats, the ones that follow me home. They're actually kinda cute-

"Ow!" I can't help the shriek that slips past my lips, staring down at whatever's grabbed my leg. It's hands are cold and pasty, but it's fingers are surprisingly strong, wrapped around my ankle and sweeping me off my feet.

I land on my arm on the sidewalk, and a gross crunch runs through my ears, no doubt dislocating something. At least my arm braced my fall, and my head didn't connect with the concrete, but whatever's gotten a hold of me is pulling my leg towards its head.

I can't grip the sidewalk fast enough, trying to pull my leg out of its grasp, but its hand won't budge from where it's clasped around my ankle. It's disgustingly damp and wrinkly and I want scream, but my voice trapped in my throat, and I can't do anything but watch a pair of empty eyes ogle my leg like it's a drumstick.

Kicking is futile, and my nails only scrape against the sidewalk as I try to hold on and yank myself away from its claws, yellow eyes horrifyingly shattered into tiny slivers of crisp gold. Their irises were like a plate that someone had dropped, pupils unable to focus on me, staring with an almost palpable hunger.

Finally, a scream works it's way out of my throat, but no one is around to hear me struggle. I haven't even noticed how frantic my breaths have become, gulping for air as I wriggle out of its clammy embrace, but it's nails only rip up my pant leg and dig into the bare skin of my calf.

What the fuck is this? An animal, or a rabid human, someone looking to hurt me?

My head snaps up as teeth sink into my leg, pain shooting up my limb as I cry out and kick back, finally getting it off of me. It ripped out a chunk of my calf, but my eyes are too streaked with tears to make out what had happened as I limp across the street and fall onto someone's lawn, sitting back for a better look.

Those teeth were definitely human, flat but somehow strong enough to successfully take a piece of my muscle out. I'm hissing through my own teeth at the horrible pain, trying to drawn it deep breaths to stop myself from crying.

It hurts. It hurts so bad, and on top of the sting of having my leg bitten, my shoulder is aching just as bad. I definitely dislocated it, cursing to myself quietly, eyes scanning the street for any more of whatever the hell that was.

I have no choice but to grind my teeth together to hold back my whimpers, pulling up my pant leg and examining the wound, warm tears slipping down my cheeks. There's an open hole in my leg, skin around it ripped up, clear teeth marks lining the walls. A puddle of blood marks its spot on the sidewalk where I lay, shoulder hanging uncomfortably, whatever's in the air only growing stronger around me like a twisted perfume.

It makes a home inside my lungs, almost like it's soothing my pain, but I can't notice it. The only thing on my mind is how I'll get myself out of this one, how I'll hobble home and explain myself to Dallon, if I even can walk.

There's no way he's gonna believe this one.

My leg is pulsating like it has its own heartbeat, and with every miniature movement I make, the pain only worsens. With my intact arm, I pat down my pocket for my phone to call Dallon and have him come pick me up, noticing the sand and dust from the sidewalk under my fingernails.

Shit. I left it at home.

I want to walk home, to get out of danger's way as I lay on the grass, staring up at the moon. That creature could be hiding around any corner, waiting to jump out at me and eat away more of my flesh.

But I can't. My legs don't want to work, and when I move them the slightest I can't help but howl in pain, turning over to face the ground.

Fuck me. I'm going to fucking die here, aren't I? That thing is going to come back and finish what it started, and Dallon's going to find a pile of my stripped bones tomorrow. The entire thing is my fault, for leaving when I could've just said sorry to Dallon and be done, but just as every one of these nights went, I'm stuck in a situation I can't get out of-

Huh.

The thoughts were starting to grow dimmer in my head, fading away until I can't remember what I was thinking about. They slipped away much too easily, like that thick murkiness had smothered my mind.

What was I thinking about?

Hey, my arm feels better. So does my leg, even though it still has a huge gash in it. I think I can walk.

I'm walking. Kind of. More like staggering, looking around for home.

Where was home?

Do I have a home?

Whatever mist was hanging in the air seemed to overtake my head, falling into a mindless haze like I couldn't think for myself anymore. I don't want to think anymore. I'll let it think for me.

Something's dragging on the pavement beneath me.

Oh, it's my leg. It's numb.

I can't really feel anything. Did I really get hurt? I can't tell anymore.

I can't tell anything anymore. Where am I? Who am I?

More than anything, I want to sleep. I want to close my eyes and never open them again.

But when I collapse to the ground, they don't want to stay shut. I don't think I have control of my body anymore. I'm stuck awake, gazing at the stars in the sky above me.

I'm hungry. I'm _really_ hungry.

Moving is so tiresome. I don't want to move anymore. I want to go home, wherever home was.

I wanna go home. I want to think for myself, but thinking is too hard. I want my thoughts to shut up and stop being so loud.

At least I don't hurt anymore. I don't know. I can't feel my body. I'm not even aware I'm moving again, careening down the street in hopes of finding someone who knows who I am.

Someone who can get rid of whatever's in my head, whatever's making me shuffle towards a person getting into their car. I don't know who it is. They look scared.

I'm scared too. I don't know what's going on. I don't know why I can barely hold myself up, knees trembling beneath me like my bones are giving up. My whole body is giving up.

I'm so tired. And hungry.

Make it stop. I don't want to keep moving. But something's pushing me forward, and when I look down, my feet are moving.

Are those my feet? Why are my pants all torn up?

My hands meet with someone's arm. I think it's a girl. I try to mumble an apology, but my mouth doesn't work. The words won't come out.

Her eyes are wide. I don't know why. I want to tell her it's not me who's doing this, who's pulling her closer and twisting her arm up.

I'm so hungry.

Apology. I'm supposed to apologize to someone, aren't I? Was it this woman? But I'm trapped inside my own body, watching powerless as I bite into her arm.

That's not me doing that. Who's doing that?

Whatever I'm tasting helps sate the gnawing in my stomach, but it doesn't disappear completely. It only settles it a bit.

I want more. I want the hunger to go away.

Her screams sound so far away, but she tastes so close. It's the only thing filling my mouth, the taste of her peach flesh and raspberry blood on my tongue. It's so simple to dig my teeth deeper into her arm, meeting with a smooth bone. Muscles are easy to chew past, and before I know it, I'm gripping onto a manicured hand with no body connected to it. I ate her arm.

It's so good. And I can't stop. Not that I would want to.

I think whatever's taken over my mind and body knows what I need. I'm thankful. But even as I'm gazing down at her unconscious body, absolutely nothing running through my mind, hunger still tugs at my stomach.

I don't realize that she stands up after I limp away. My eyes are locked on another victim, smelling too good to ignore.

He smells like satisfaction, like coffee for the exhausted. And his scent wafts to my nose, swarming my empty mind with cravings.

I'm so hungry. The taste of the woman disappeared from my mouth too quickly.

I want more.

**\- END OF PART 1 -**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh damn, i really brought back the double pov... insanity. i gotta say, i missed it :)
> 
> i dont know what is up with me and the undead lately... i mean, i absolutely love halloween, and we are only three months away...
> 
> next chapter is out tomorrow! <3


	2. Part 2 - i hear voices, i see visions (these spirits are your prison)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for gore and dismemberment... we got ourselves a real doozy today

**\- DALLON -**

Someone had started to bang against the front door, making it rattle against its frame.

Dallon only noticed it when he descended back down the stairs, accidentally tripping on the first step and sliding down the rest on his ass. The pistol hadn't left his hand, but unlike his father, he wasn't a gun nut. The only thing Dallon knew about guns was to pull the trigger and reload the magazine.

The sight of the hand was enough to make Dallon nauseous all over again, swallowing down a mouthful of bile and burying his head in his hands, sitting on the last step of the stairs.

Dallon needed a plan. A plan, and list of items, preferably some weapons.

Across the room, Zero lifted her head and whimpered, ears pinned back. She missed Ryan, and so did Dallon.

"It's okay girl, we'll find Ryan." Dallon cooed to her, but the knot of turmoil in his gut said otherwise. Every second that passed was another second of danger for Ryan, and Dallon was sitting at the bottom of the stairs, taking his time to tie his shoes.

He didn't want to trip. Tripping could lead to one of those things biting him, and being bitten could lead to Dallon being infected. And he didn't want to be infected.

Not only did it look horribly painful to be, essentially, an animated corpse, but Dallon couldn't fathom the idea of turning into the living dead. More so, he couldn't fathom the idea of the man he loved turning into the living dead.

That's what that thing was- that's what they all were. Dallon's hands slipped around his phone as he pulled it out, scrolling through the news for more information.

Epidemic. Outbreak. The end of the world.

Zombie.

That's what that thing had been- theoretically. Rapid decay of health? State of decreased consciousness? Aggressive and _feeding off of human flesh_?

Every article read the same thing, typos scattered throughout them as evidence of the panic every living journalist felt.

Those impacted were infected with some sort of parasite that overtakes their cerebral functions and puts the victim in a hypnotic state. The parasite requires fresh human cells to continue to thrive inside its host, therefore it completely discards its hosts' inhibition and controls all further decisions and movements.

It originated as an evolved form of toxoplasmosis. The reason the disease, TXPO, was so potent and struck so many so fast was not only because 60% of the world's population is already infected with dormant parasitic cell, but because a lab at the nearby university accidentally released a gas which only facilitates contamination speed.

So, essentially, a zombie virus had been set upon the world, more than half of the population was susceptible, and Dallon lived in the one town with a university stupid enough to leak a gas which speeds up the infection rate.

What if Ryan wasn't okay? What if he'd already been turned, and Dallon was wasting precious time reading stuff on his phone?

No. Dallon had to calm himself. Now wasn't the time to evolve into an anxious mess like he always did when Ryan's health was in danger.

He needed to prepare for Ryan's search. Dallon didn't give a shit who wanted him to stay inside- his boyfriend was out there somewhere, possibly being eaten alive. And Dallon was going to save him.

Step number one was barricading the doors and windows, which Dallon had already done. The kitchen table rested beneath the jiggling doorknob, someone obviously trying to get in. It could be Ryan, but then again, Ryan knew how to use his voice and the undead didn't.

Pieces of spare plywood Dallon had found downstairs were fastened to the windows, house suspended in darkness as morning came over the town. Dallon was already accustomed to covering his ears as he heard it descend to madness outside, hoping that one of those desperate screams for help wasn't Ryan.

Car alarms cried out nonstop, a symphony of shrieking cars that didn't have owners anymore. Every few minutes, a blood-curdling scream would filter in through the cracks in the window sill, before being silenced quickly.

Dallon knew what was happening to those people, based on the videos he'd seen online already. It made him shiver, grip tightening around the pistol, palms sweaty enough to make it slip in his grasp.

He needed to find Ryan before whatever happened to those people happened to him. Dallon had a duty, not only as his best friend, but as a boyfriend, to protect Ryan from harm's way.

Step two was arming himself. A pistol was good, but not good enough. Dallon needed a blunt object, something he could bash the infected with before they got close enough to get him.

In an untouched closet laid a bundle of sports equipment, sports that Dallon had tried once before giving up.

Lacrosse stick. Hockey stick. Tennis racket.

Ah, there it was- baseball bat, Dallon's favourite out of the horrid sports. Replace a baseball bat with a bass, and he'd be perfectly armed, but his bass sat untouched in their storage unit.

Even thinking about his bass in a time like this made guilt crawl into Dallon's chest, caving in on itself. Others' lives were at stake- especially Ryan's- and Dallon couldn't think about all the pretty music he'd make right now.

Step three, dress accordingly. Dallon threw open his and Ryan's closet with the baseball bat slung over his shoulder, ribcage folding closer and closer in on itself at every piece of Ryan's clothing he saw.

If something had happened to Ryan, it would be Dallon's fault, and Dallon didn't think he could live with that knowledge.

He ditched his sweater for a thicker one, an old wool sweater his grandmother had given him ages ago that Dallon never wore. Right now, he couldn't care less about the neon Christmas tree sewn into the front, or the words at the back that read 'Merry Christmas Dallon!'.

There was a reason he'd never worn that sweater.

A pair of old leather gloves that one of them owned cured the sweat on Dallon's palms, slipping on a pair of corduroy pants on unstable legs, falling over onto the bed.

The unmade bed that Ryan and him had slept in last night after returning from New York. Ryan's pillow still had an indent from where he'd laid his head, but the warmth the sheets once held had vanished, leaving Dallon's heart hollow.

He needed to find Ryan as soon as he could, dead or alive at this point. Dallon prayed it was the latter.

Now that he was dressed appropriately for a zombie apocalypse, sweating underneath his bulkiest clothes, Dallon slid the gun in his pocket and grabbed the baseball bat from where he'd laid it on the rumpled bed.

Sure, he looked insane, but the undead looked insane-er. Dallon didn't think any of them would have the mental capacity to criticize his fashion choices.

Next up was packing a bag of the essentials. A bottle of aspirin, a first aid kit, a water bottle, and a flashlight all found their way into Dallon's backpack, slinging it over his shoulder. The pistol was clunky in his pocket, but Dallon knew he had the safety on. Right now, his best weapon was his baseball bat, still polished after years of being untouched.

The biggest issue was the fact that the car sat in their driveway, right out in the open where every one of the undead could see him. Actually, with the bright shade of his sweater, anybody would be able to see him from miles away.

The car had originally been Dallon's, but now him and Ryan shared it, a busted old thing that barely ran anymore. Rust thrived in its corners and folds, especially in the divots where one of them had dented the turquoise metal, a few shades lighter than Ryan's hair. Even after years of neglect and negligence, the car was still clinging onto some of its 70s charm, a sharp thing that had rusty orange vinyl seats.

As much as Ryan hated the car, Dallon treasured it and all the old memories it held. He'd had the car when he first started The Brobecks, when his first girlfriend dumped him, and when he'd gotten the text that Ryan was fired from his band and was coming to live with him.

It's rust-laden points held a dear place in Dallon's old heart, and he didn't want to see it be bent up anymore than it already had. But it was his one means of transportation, and a car was best for running over crowds of dead people to save his boyfriend.

The only door Dallon hadn't barricaded was the side door, the one that stemmed off from the kitchen and into the driveway. It was more common for the two of them to use the front door, but the side door worked just as good, and nobody eager for Dallon's flesh was standing outside it.

With a deep gulp in, which sounded much more like a wheeze than an inhale, Dallon unlocked the door and held the baseball bat up, ready to knock down whoever stood in his way. In a few quick strides Dallon was opening the car door and slamming it shut, cringing at the loud noise it made, head swiveling around to make sure none of the creatures heard.

The one that had been at his door had disappeared, but that didn't mean they were all done with Dallon's street. Some of them were jostling his neighbors' door, and further down the street Dallon could spot a small cluster of them, standing in the middle of the road with lifeless eyes and crumpled stances.

_Eugh_. Dallon had seen his fair share of gore-ridden photos online, but there was a difference between the pixels on his screen and real life. He didn't know where to go, or if he should even start the car out of fear of making noise and attracting attention.

Dallon's eyes glanced back to the house for one final look, and he spotted Zero in the crack between pieces of plywood, staring at him with betrayal. The same type of betrayal Ryan's eyes had held the last time Dallon saw him.

Shit, he forgot Zero. He couldn't leave her alone in a house that'd eventually be broken into; it was safer to bring her with him than to abandon her. Dallon hated having to go back out in the open when his first attempt had gone successfully, but he had to bring Zero. She was just as much a part of his family as Ryan was.

The bat knocked against Dallon's head as he zipped back into the house, scooping the tiny dog up in one motion and holding her close to his chest. Zero was smart enough to know not to chew at the sparkly fabric of the Christmas tree, whimpering quietly in Dallon's arms as he took in the house one last time, eyes lingering on the photos on the wall.

Their first concert. Their second first concert in the new band. Their date at the amusement park.

Dallon remembered that day, the clearness of the blue sky, how one cloud didn't blanket them as they walked down the boardwalk hand in hand. The sun was warm enough to melt Ryan's drink, but not warm enough that they let go of each other, smiling about nothing in particular.

Ryan wanted to go on every wild ride with Dallon, but all Dallon wanted to do was go on the Ferris wheel. His wish had been granted after a full day of rollercoasters, when the last bit of colour was hanging onto his cheeks, and his stomach was ready to get rid of all the junk they'd eaten. But that night, as dusk rose upon the day, orange creeping into the jade of the sky, Dallon didn't regret that day one bit.

Him and Ryan kissed on the Ferris wheel, all the way from the top to the bottom, when the attendant had to beckon them off. There was something in Ryan's deep-set eyes that coaxed Dallon into doing something he'd never do, making out with his partner in public where the entire world could witness them. That wasn't what Dallon had been taught.

But kissing Ryan was so magically immersing that Dallon didn't feel the glares of older women, or the kids that giggled, or the harsh gaze of the attendant as they tripped off. All he could feel was the taste of Ryan lingering on his lips, like cheap beer and cotton candy, unable to pull himself away from the gravity of Ryan's smirk. That night, after the park was long closed and the sky was streaked with ebony, Dallon held onto Ryan all night long and let that gravity take him away, bare chests pressed together in a soft type of heat. They were slick with sunscreen, tanned from the long day in the sun, holding onto one another with nimble hands that didn't want to press any harder than they should.

That was when the words slipped out from Ryan's mouth, the words Dallon had been waiting for him to whisper for so long.

"I love you."

Dallon brushed his lips against Ryan's, not only to teasingly silence him, but to take a moment to savor the words, letting them hang in the air like a question.

And Dallon had his answer.

"I love you too."

The moment slid on in peaceful harmony, satisfied groans and soft gasps lost in each other's mouth, pleasing one another gently. In those quiet moments, where the room was completely dark except for the shine of the moon in Ryan's eyes, Dallon knew he was perfectly content with Ryan.

He knew he was in love.

But Dallon wouldn't know that weeks later that would all be dampened by their pointless fights, that they would never have a night that compared to that one in the slightest. And as the list of nights grew where Dallon would sit at the kitchen table alone and let the yellow light act as his sun, Dallon would wonder where that magic had been lost to.

Dallon would wonder if Ryan truly meant his words.

After looking up and down the hall, Dallon grabbed the photo and slipped it inside his sweater, as close to his heart as he could get it. Zero laid still in his arms, but Dallon could feel the rapid beat of her heart under his hand. She was smart; she must know what was going on.

The door shut loudly behind Dallon, but he was too preoccupied with shushing Zero's whines to notice a woman leaning against his car. Well, something that used to be a woman.

She was missing an entire forearm, like it had been chewed off, but that didn't stop her from snarling and clawing at Dallon as he almost ran into her. Her eyes, which were probably once a brilliant blue, were rusted with an orange, pieces of her iris scattered all throughout her eyes. Just the sight was enough to make Dallon queasy, but now wasn't the time for his sensitive stomach to act up. He needed to defend himself.

The baseball bat was heavier than Dallon remembered it being, but it did the job of pushing her away onto the lawn, disoriented for long enough to let Dallon get in the car and drop Zero on the passenger's seat. His arm ached from having to swing it with one hand, muscles that hadn't been used in years suddenly flaring up.

Dallon couldn't bring himself to kill someone, especially a woman, even if she was planning on killing him. This entire situation was gruesome enough, but he didn't need any more blood on his hands than what might already be on them.

Ryan's blood. It tightened his chest to think that Ryan could be out there, either dead or undead, alone. And the fact that it would be Dallon's fault.

He needed to find Ryan.

The car's engine grumbled as it started, an old thing they never bothered to fix. It earned the attention of the zombie across the street, glazed-over eyes watching Dallon back out of the driveway with shaky hands.

It was hard to breathe, like whatever was outside had crept into the car, tainting the air that Dallon inhaled warily. Outside, everything was skewed and upside down, like he'd walked out onto a different planet where the air was just a bit thicker. What should normally be an easy morning fog was ominous, an earthy chemical clinging to the oxygen like ornaments on a Christmas tree.

Dallon was scared to breathe, as if even that was enough to infect him. Zero observed him with curious eyes, but something worrisome shone in them, like she too was afraid of what stalked outside the walls of the car. It seemed everything in the world was afraid of what might become of it; the sun peeked out from the horizon, not wanting to shine anymore light on the creatures than it already had. Every living thing held its breath, trees holding their leaves out of reach, flowers closed to protect themselves.

Dallon didn't know where to start, eyes scanning up and down the street for that familiar blue hair. But he was scared of finding Ryan less alive than he'd left him, missing the key parts of himself, just like that half-dead woman was.

No more rough hands for Dallon to hold. No more strong arms for drumming. No more tired grins and no more nervous laughs before a show.

That thought made Dallon press the pedal down more forcefully, speeding up down their street. He'd been going slow to not make anymore noise than he needed to, but Zero was whimpering loud enough to attract everyone's attention anyways, and Dallon needed to find Ryan.

Dallon passed by images he never wanted to see again, of people with ripped up skin, limbs tangled in a pile, missing faces and legs. It was something straight out of a horror movie, corpses piled up that were too shredded to be reanimated, eyes that stared off into the distance. Dallon had to clutch his stomach in hopes of settling its nausea, looking the other way as his throat burned, biting the inside of his cheeks and taking deep breaths.

_You're not going to puke. You're not going to puke._

Sweat was pooling in his armpits, beads rolling down the side of his face as he turned down a different street, worries bleeding through his mind. Dallon did his best to stop them from tumbling out of control, but they all caught up with him eventually.

Was this truly the end of the world? What if he died? Where would he get his food?

What if he couldn't find Ryan?

And then, Dallon saw him.

Standing in the middle of the road, a dazed look in his eyes, shoulder hanging unnaturally. The arms of his jacket had been torn, and his jeans had been ripped into shorts, a deep red hole in his calf that was crusted with blood. His skin had faded into a sickly grey colour, splattered with red, blood streaking his face like paint as he turned towards Dallon with an empty look.

Dallon was too late.

It hit Dallon like a freight train, shuddering and reeling in, lungs completely empty of air. Dallon couldn't breathe anymore. He couldn't even blink, unable to take his eyes off of Ryan's stone-coloured face, deserted of all life.

Ryan was dead. Well, undead. But he was gone.

Dallon swallowed the sour taste in his throat and got out of the car slowly, accidentally leaving the baseball bat behind. There was no right way to approach Ryan, chest so tight every one of Dallon's breaths was a wheeze, knees trembling beneath him.

It was too late. This was all Dallon's fault.

"R-Ryan?" Dallon's voice quivered, reaching out a gentle hand to him. He didn't know how far gone Ryan was from him- he didn't know what he was going to do, especially if Ryan was aggressive. He didn't know how much of Ryan was left inside there, or if the parasite had scrapped him completely, and was just using his dead body for food.

But Ryan only cocked his head, either out of misunderstanding or not being able to hold it upright anymore. Confusion and bewilderment ran through the rivers of veins in his bloodshot eyes, flitting to Dallon with nothing behind them except fog. A sliver of his dark iris had faded into a murky green colour, like sea glass, washing over Dallon in empty astonishment.

Ryan didn't remember him.

Dallon's hand shook violently as he crept closer to Ryan, stuffing the anguish that stirred in his chest deep, deep down. His voice had gathered the attention of others nearby, slowly staggering towards him with nothing but hunger.

"Ryan, it's m-me." Dallon's voice had grown three octaves higher, throat closing up at the pure hollowness of Ryan's gaze, hair matted and clothes torn. A trail of blood ran from the corner of his mouth down to his chin, dripping onto the pavement beneath them, sun finally facing the world in a misty orange colour. _Ryan had eaten someone_.

Dallon took Ryan's nonexistent reaction as a good one and reached for his arm, to hopefully spark a memory, anything that would make Ryan remember him. But as he grabbed his arm and pulled it, it came cleanly off with a crunch, like a loose tooth that had been hanging onto its last threads.

All the colour drained from Dallon's face, a whole new wave of sickness overcoming him as he dropped Ryan's arm. "Oh my god... oh my god."

Ryan only glanced down at his empty elbow before back at Dallon, eyes glossy with disarray and haze. His face didn't scrunch up with any pain- it was blank, like nothing laid behind his forehead anymore.

Dallon had to make a decision quickly; others were starting to crowd around them, walls of the undead closing in as Dallon's heart thumped in his ears.

Leave Ryan here to rot, or bring him with him.

This was all Dallon's fault, and he was going to fix Ryan, to change him back to the man he used to be. Someone who was full of life and character and charm, not an empty husk of a corpse who couldn't think anymore.

He swiftly wrapped his arms around Ryan's waist and slung him over his shoulder, ignoring the soft groan he made in response. Ryan weighed much less than Dallon remembered, but that might be because he was missing half of his arm, blood soaking into Dallon's tacky sweater.

With a grunt, Dallon threw him in the backseat and slid into the driver's seat, gripping the steering wheel with his leather gloves. If Dallon wasn't blinking back salty tears, he'd admire how cool he looked, but the only thing running through his head was the fact that Ryan was dead and it was his fault.

Tears began to blur his vision as Dallon pressed the pedal to the ground, eyes meeting with Ryan's baffled ones in the rearview mirror. The tires squealed as he sped down the street, ignoring the bumps of the corpses he ran over, a bitter taste filling his mouth at the sight of Ryan's desolate eyes.

He was gone. If Dallon hadn't kicked him out, he would've never been infected, and they could be at home right now drinking hot chocolate and laughing about the idiots outside. But instead, Dallon was speeding down the suburbs of their tiny town as Zero looked over into the backseat, whimpering louder.

She didn't like strangers; she never had. And not only did Ryan not recognize her, she didn't recognize him.

He slammed the breaks at a stop light, listening to Ryan's limp body roll onto the ground behind him, catching the gaze of a driver across the street.

They were dressed just as warmly as Dallon was, eyes holding the same type of distress Dallon felt in his bones. The two of them nodded in some twisted understanding of the situation, a brief moment of fear flashing in the other driver's eyes, but Dallon didn't know why.

That was, until he noticed Ryan creeping up behind him, grabbing at his shoulder. Dallon shoved him back in self-defense, body going as cold as Ryan's when he realized what he'd done, and what Ryan was about to do to him.

Ryan was going to bite him. Not only did he forget who Dallon was, he now saw him as food. There wasn't time for Dallon to choke up and cry, as the light had turned green and he was driving past another cluster of the undead.

Ryan lunged at him again like a crazed dog, but this time Dallon was driving. The car swerved as he elbowed Ryan back down, heart sinking at the fact that he had to hit the love of his life, eyes darting between the road and Ryan's claws. Blood had clotted beneath his fingernails, skin cracked and swollen, crusted red living in the creases of his palm. Those palms had been just as cracked before, but for an entirely different reason.

A reason that Dallon loved, and that Ryan had loved too. But based on the crazed look in Ryan's eyes, Dallon didn't think Ryan knew who he was.

Who he used to be.

"Ryan, stop!" Dallon screeched, pulling over the car to properly wrestle Ryan. He finally thrusted Ryan hard enough that he slumped back into the orange vinyl, gawking in disbelief, like he was shocked that Dallon wouldn't let him bite him.

"N-No Ryan, no." Dallon said sternly, twisting around to scold Ryan. He didn't know what else to do, but to treat Ryan like a child who needed to learn what he could and couldn't do.

Ryan cocked his head again, but this time his entire body fell into the car door, rubbing his bloody eyes with the back of his remaining hand. It hurt Dallon to see him completely limp, like his bones were string, unable to hold up his own weight anymore.

His arm had stopped bleeding, but the evidence still stained the orange seats of the car, blood soaked into the cushion material. With every new cut on Ryan's skin, Dallon's heart sunk deeper into the cavern of his chest; with every piece of grey skin that was painted with a pink gash, the shine of the bone peeking out from behind the shredded flesh, the horrible rash that crawled up his trembling knees.

Ryan must be scared too, but he couldn't show it. The parasite inside him had him trapped, forcing him to clutch to the seats of the car, digging his hands deeper in an attempt to stop himself from jumping at Dallon again.

"Ghhh- mm!" Ryan made nonsensical noises of anger, staring wide-eyed at Dallon with a certain desperation.

_'Help me.'_ His eyes read the words clear as day, before Ryan shook his head and they were back to being as cloudy as the sky above the car.

"Ry?" Dallon crooned softly, taking Zero into his arms as she shook in fear, baring her teeth at Ryan and growling.

Dallon didn't know what was happening to Ryan, why his jaw went slack and he slipped right back into a trance.

Dallon didn't know what to do next. He didn't know if there was anything to do next, if there was any possible way that he could fix Ryan.

Nothing laid behind his eyes anymore. None of the old liveliness that Dallon loved was there anymore. All of the magic had bled out, a vacant desert of nothingness left, another fragment of his iris faded into a haunting green.

The man he loved was slipping away, mind eaten up by the parasite, chewing at every nerve ending in his body. He was a mindless monster.

And it was all Dallon's fault.

**\- RYAN'S INNER DIALOGUE-**

I'm so hungry.

I don't know how many people I've gone through.

They've started to go away. I'm not sad. I don't think I'm capable of being sad anymore. But I want them to come back.

At the beginning, people were easy to find. They were easy to pull apart. And they tasted good.

But now they're all gone. The hunger is back. It never completely disappeared, but eating helped keep it away from me. It lingered in the distance instead of yelling in my ear.

It's loud. It's all too loud. I want the people back. I want them to tell me who I am.

I don't know who I am. I don't know who I've become.

I'm so hungry. My stomach should hurt. But nothing hurts like it should anymore.

Someone hit me. It didn't hurt. But I had to make sure I didn't lose anything. The people around me, the ones that are the same as me, are losing things. Heads. Legs. Arms. Eyes.

I need to make sure I still have everything.

My legs are there. My arms are there. I can see them.

My stomach is there. It's the only thing I can feel. I want the different people to come back so I can't feel anything anymore.

They help me feel numb. I'm hungry again.

Someone's here. I can smell them. It makes my mouth go tingly.

Their shirt rips in my grasp. Their heart sounds so loud. It's all I can think about.

The thing in my head thinks for me. It helps the hunger go away. It tells me who smells good and who's like me.

They're so warm against me. When the taste hits my tongue, I don't have to think about anything anymore. I don't have to think about who I am.

The sounds of their flesh snapping is natural at this point. Like piano strings. It calms the thing inside my head.

I don't like the thing. But it controls me now. And there's nothing I can do about it. So I have to like it.

I don't know anything anymore. The world around me is blue and yellow. I can't remember a time when it wasn't.

The person isn't different anymore. They're useless to me now. So I stand up and drag my feet across the pavement. I don't know how else to walk.

I want to go home. But I don't think I have a home anymore. I don't think the people at home wanted me anymore.

I don't think anyone wants me anymore.

I just want to sleep. But the thing won't let me. It's cruel.

It keeps me walking, looking for the next person to bite. To eat. It needs people. It told me that, and I had no choice but to listen.

It's loud. I don't like it. I wanna go home. I wanna find someone who can tell me who I am.

All I can see around me are people like me. I don't know what to think of them. Some of them groan.

My mouth doesn't work anymore. The thing won't let me move it. I don't know if I've ever had a voice. I don't like how the other people sound, like they're in pain. I can't feel anything.

I see a bug land on me. I hate the bugs. They try to crawl into my cuts, and sometimes, I have to let them. The thing won't let me move to get rid of them.

They bite me. They bite the cuts. It should hurt, but I don't feel them prod deeper. I'm scared that they live inside me now. I don't want the bugs to live inside me.

I don't like it here. But I'm lost. I'm so lost. And so hungry.

I think I'll sit on the ground. But the thing won't let me. I'm forced to stand in the middle of the road and let the wind make me sway. All I want to do is rest.

A car pulls up. Some of the people had been going into cars. I hope someone is in this car. The hunger is back, and stronger this time.

It's a man in the car. I can't really see much else about him. The world is blurred around me, like I'm wearing glasses that are wrong for my eyes. And everything is yellow and blue. I don't like the colours. I don't know.

He looks like every other person. He looks scared. I used to be scared too, but that was before I forgot what it was like to feel things.

I don't have feelings anymore. They froze up. And it's too hard to care about them if I can't remember what they're like.

But he smells good. My mouth goes tingly again. The thing wants him, but I'm finding it hard to move, like my shoes are glued to the ground.

I think those are my shoes. It's hard to tell what is me and what isn't. Earlier today I found someone else's arm and thought it was mine. I didn't know. Mine are numb.

He said something. I can't hear him. The people like me are coming closer, but I don't want them to. I want him for myself.

He put his hand on my arm, but I couldn't feel it. I also couldn't feel it when he pulled my arm off.

Fuck, I lost something. I wasn't supposed to do that. I don't know why the man did that.

At least it doesn't hurt. His eyes are bigger now, like instead of me hurting, it hurt him. He wasn't supposed to hurt. I was supposed to hurt when he ripped off my arm.

I wanna say sorry for hurting him. But my mouth won't move. It's not fair. Why does he get to talk while I can't?

I want my arm back, but I guess it's gone. I don't know if I care. But I don't want this man to hurt because I lost something.

He's grabbing me now, and I'm scared of losing something again. I don't want to hurt him again. There's something about the man that I like, but the thing inside me doesn't like him. It wants me to eat him.

But I don't wanna eat him. He's taking me somewhere. Maybe he knows where my home is.

Wherever he puts me is soft. It's nice. It feels better than the street did. I think I like this man.

But the thing won't shut up. I don't want to hurt him.

I think he's nice.

And he smells nice.

He's driving fast. His sweater felt nice on my skin. I hadn't noticed, but my skin is burning bright red, especially around my knees.

I don't think it hurts. I don't think my body cares anymore.

There's another creature up there with him, but it doesn't smell as good. It doesn't like me. I understand. I don't like me either. I don't know what it's called. I forget the word.

That's happening too often. I can't remember words anymore. I know that I once knew them, but they were stolen from my mind by the thing. I don't even have the proper words to describe the man.

He deserves all the words in the world, but I can't give him any. I can't even give him a smile.

Eat him. Eat him eat him eat him. You need to eat him.

I don't wanna eat him.

The thing won't shut up. It's too loud and I want to block my ears. But my hands won't move, not even when I fall on the floor.

Please.

I don't wanna be hungry anymore. I just wanna sleep. But my eyes won't shut.

I hate it. I hate everything. I want to feel something other than the overbearing hunger.

I want to know who I am. I don't want to eat anyone anymore. I'm scared, and lost, but I can't show it. I can't scream or cry for help

I'm stuck. And the thing is making me sit up and claw at the man's shoulder, stomach aching with hunger.

He yelps and pushes me away, like I'm a monster. I'm not. The thing is the monster, and I'm its vessel.

I'm helpless. I don't wanna do this. But I'm forced to watch as my body jerks forward again, aiming for the man's neck, the most exposed part of his tempting skin.

It's the colour of freshly baked bread, impossibly enticing, the same temperature too. I mean, everyone's skin is warm compared to mine. Even though I don't want to bite the nice man, my stomach sure wants me to.

But he leans over the seat and pushes me away again. Hard. I wish I could say it hurt, but I didn't feel the strength of his gloved hand against my chest.

It caved in a bit. Are my bones really that weak, that they can be pushed around by a human? Especially my ribcage, which houses my silent heart.

Whoever this man is, I think I like him. The way he pushes me isn't nice, but I understand it. I'd push me away too.

He's saying something again, but I can't focus on it. I want to, but the thing decides not to. It decides everything for me.

I'm hungry again. And I don't know what the thing is capable of making me do for food. But I don't want to eat the nice man, even though I can hear his juicy heart pounding through the walls of his stomach, almost drooling with blood.

It's all I can hear. I don't want to. Make it stop. I don't want to hurt the nice man.

I need to tell him this, that the thing controls me and gets rid of my mind. I need to snap the chains and let this man know that it's not me who wants to eat him.

For the first time in the portion of my life I can remember, my mouth moves. I struggled hard enough to make a noise come out, but it was nothing close to the words I wanted to say.

His eyebrows only furrow in confusion. He didn't understand me. And the thing inside me is raging, ripping up the folds of my brain to grab back it's reins of control. I have to comply.

It was a short moment of clarity, but not enough to let this man know I can think. Sort of. More words are falling into the dark corners of my brain where knowledge goes to die.

The thing has me again, braindead and lifeless. I don't think it knows this part of my brain where I can think about what it's doing. Its the only part of me that's safe from its control.

I don't know what thing I've become, and I don't know who I was before this. I guess this is just who I am now, a slave to the bug in my mind.

I don't know. It's getting harder to think. I think I'll let the thing think for me for awhile. I don't really want to have to be lost anymore.

I think I'll just let go for now, and pray that when I come back the thing hasn't found the secret part of my mind.

It's in control now. I don't think about anything right now. I don't want to.

It's nice. Like the nice man.

I like the nice man. I think.

I don't know anymore.

**\- END OF PART 2 -**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, so I know I was just gone for a while... but I'll be gone again this week too :/ I'm not sure when I'll be back, hell, it might even be in a couple weeks, but I will be writing over this time so I'll have lots of stuff to give to you guys :)
> 
> Let me know what you thought, and thank you for reading!! <3


	3. Part 3 - bring to me your sons and daughters ('cause absinthe makes the heart grow fonder)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for this chapter for teeth?? just... something gross with teeth. if that doesn't float your boat, please do not read!! <3

**\- DALLON -**

Dallon knew that a part of Ryan still lived behind those lost eyes.

They couldn't focus on him. They swayed back and forth, attention floating around the car, another shattered piece of it faded into the murky, sea-glass green. Not one smidgen of recognition laid behind those bloody eyes, a hollow shell of everything he used to be.

Ryan wasn't in command of himself anymore, and it was obvious.

His body twitched like it was pulled by invisible strings, skin waxy and dull. It was paper-thin enough that in some spots, Dallon could see the veins running through clearly, but they didn't hold the same amount of blood they used to. He hadn't tried to bite Dallon again, but Dallon still kept his distance in the front seat as he pulled over on the side of the road, miles away from any infected people.

Dallon didn't like the real word for the infected people. It dehumanized Ryan, and it made Dallon feel like there was nothing else he could do to save Ryan and the small part of him that was surviving beneath his dying body. Maybe there wasn't anything Dallon could do, but he didn't want to think about that right now. There was no room to think about what would happen if Ryan wasn't lost to the parasite forever, and if Dallon would have to live with that guilt forever.

Dallon was too busy trying to make sure that he'd actually live.

His phone was clinging onto its last minutes of life, all cell reception lost. His news page wouldn't reload, and except for a few texts from his parents that he ignored, nobody was trying to contact Dallon.

He was separated from the rest of the world. Dallon was alone with whatever was left of Ryan.

With a sigh, Dallon reached over to pet Zero, glancing back to Ryan. He was staring out the window mindlessly, taking in the farmer's field they were parked next to, gripping onto the handle with the hand he had left. Outside, that bizarre yellow haze had only thickened, landscape painted in a musty taupe mist that mimicked the confusion Dallon held. As much as he didn't want to admit it, Dallon truly had no idea what was going to become of them.

The car started again with a cough and a few sputters, a new dent in the front from where Dallon had ran over one of the infected. The indent lived next to the oldest scruff on the car, from where Dallon had fallen on it as a teenager while fixing his parents' old antenna. Somehow, he hadn't broken his arm then, sliding off the hood of the car with a grunt and brushing himself off. That damned antenna never got fixed, though.

Dallon didn't think he had the same invincibility now then he had as a teenager. He'd seen people much stronger than him be bitten, turned into the undead creatures that stalked the otherwise empty streets.

Next up on his mental list of preparations was finding a grocery store where he could get something to eat, a phone charger, and more bandages. Based on what he'd seen on the bare sections of Ryan's waxen body, he was going to need a lot more bandaids than he'd brought with him.

Dallon was going to fix up every piece of peeling skin until Ryan somewhat resembled the human he used to be. He didn't care how many bites he had to dodge; Dallon was going to carry Ryan with him to the ends of the earth in hopes that they'd find a cure.

The grocery store wasn't very far away, but Dallon strayed from his usual path as he always did when driving. The car was much too old to have a GPS, and all the cell towers were down, so Dallon aimlessly drove downtown in hopes of passing a sight he'd seen before.

Most houses he passed were boarded up, the same as his was before he'd abandoned it, but some of them were left wide open. Sliding doors were halfway closed, fancy front doors were swinging idly in the wind, and cats scampered out of houses with no owners alive to catch it from running away. Dallon knew what had happened to those houses, what those people had been doing before someone infected had found their way inside, and where the animated corpses of those people roamed now. Lights were left on, smoke alarms wailed at the food left to burn on the stove, and televisions all displayed the infamous bars of colour.

The sights made Dallon gulp, swallowing down the hard lump in his throat and driving a little faster. At every thump from one of the undead hitting the car, Ryan fell forward into the back of the passenger seat, completely silent except for the unsettling crunch of his brittle bones. They were most likely snapping easily inside him, but his face didn't move one inch, only feeding the icky feeling of guilt that seeped into Dallon's heart.

Ryan could be here, conscious and just as worried as Dallon, but instead he was letting the car toss him around with no emotions.

The knowledge dug deep past Dallon's skin and into his bones, horrible waves of nausea and shame washing over him, rusty water that flooded Dallon's mind until it was racing with terror. The darkest part of his mind knew he deserved to be as braindead as Ryan. That part of him wanted to be bitten, to let go of all of these terrible worries and let the bliss of ignorance sweep his mind into the swampiness of the parasite's rein.

But if Dallon was turned dead, then there was no hope for either of them. And as much as he wanted to rid himself of these horrid thoughts, Dallon had a duty to save Ryan from himself.

It was the most he could do after kicking Ryan out and letting him die. In a way, this was his second chance to save Ryan after failing once.

If only it wasn't so hard to keep Ryan from chewing on every surface in the car. Even Zero stared at him in disgust, ears flattened against her head in concern.

First, it was his own hand. Ryan was gnawing at it so quietly Dallon didn't notice, focusing on the horizon line to stop his stomach from churning. Every since he'd first left the house, Dallon had been holding onto that horrible ghost of nausea that made his insides want to flip inside out, worse than that day at the fair after eating too much junk.

Oh, how Dallon wanted to go back to that wondrous day and the carelessness of it all. Not one ominous cloud hung in the sky, open and stretching across the entire world, brilliant sun dressing everybody in a cheerful colour. Now, the undead only wore a dismal mustard tone, the same colour that surrounded the rusty old car as Dallon sped down back streets, searching for any sign of life.

His eyes caught Ryan's blurred ones in the mirror, fingers stuffed in his mouth as drool dripped out around them. He was softly munching on them, jaw too weak to fully clamp down on his hand, like a dog that was chewing on a shoe.

"Ryan, no." Dallon reached back to whack at his hand, grabbing hold of Ryan's wrist and pulling his hand out of his mouth. While he was busy slapping away Ryan's limp hand from his open mouth, the car met with one of the creatures, rolling over them like they'd run over a speed bump.

Dallon honestly couldn't care less at this point, staring at Ryan with knives in his eyes, trying to hide his irritation. Ryan didn't know better, but it was still frustrating having to treat him like a toddler, smacking his remaining arm away from his mouth once again.

Thankfully, this time, Ryan's hand didn't shoot back up to his mouth. He only stared at Dallon with that empty look, but something shone behind the nothingness in his eyes.

Betrayal.

_'Why did you let this happen, Dallon?'_ He said, voice echoing throughout Dallon's mind. But Ryan never actually said those words, unable to do anything but gaze out through the windshield. His eyes didn't even follow Dallon, but Dallon still knew what words they were choking out. Begging Dallon to save him from the prison of his body.

As he neared another barren intersection, Dallon flicked on the turn signal, sighing and leaning back into his seat. Ryan was humming softly, nothing close to comprehensible words coming out of his mouth, dragging himself over to the side of the car and going back to studying the landscape outside.

The roots of a new feeling sprouted inside Dallon, clawing their way through his chest. Uncomfortable, Dallon shifted in his seat, tying to stop his mind from racing with guilt. But that didn't uproot the feeling, sticky limbs prodding at his heart until it was heavy inside him, aching horribly.

You did this to Ryan, all because you couldn't apologize.

Maybe Ryan had been right. Maybe it was Dallon's fault for being so uptight and not wanting to ever leave the house. But this, the decaying bag of bones who was sitting in Dallon's backseat, was not Ryan. And that was completely his fault.

That damned turn signal only grew louder though, until it was screaming in Dallon's ears, clicks ringing out through his stinging head.

_Your fault. Your fault. Your fault._

Tears of poison pricked at Dallon's eyes, trying to blink them back, yet they still spilled down his cheeks. The guilt was all-consuming, swallowing everything inside Dallon until it was all that inhabited him, invasive vines of regret tangled around his ribcage.

The last words him and Ryan had ever spoken were harsh. Dallon couldn't even remember the last time they'd said 'I love you', and now Ryan would never hear him say it again.

Dallon wanted to scream. He wanted to shout and cry and throw a huge fit, one that would scare Ryan back into the person who he used to be. The crave broiled inside him, skin burning with fury at himself, anger searing through all his rational thoughts as he ran over another dead person. Dallon didn't care. He'd run over all of them to have the old Ryan back. He'd kill every ghost of a person who roamed the earth, just to see Ryan smile again.

But throwing a tantrum was senseless and childish, and right now, the only person who was allowed to act childish was Ryan.

So instead, Dallon let an unsteady whine slip out past his lips, wiped away his tears, and gripped the steering wheel tighter, pulling into the deserted parking lot of the store. Tears wouldn't fix Ryan, no matter how much Dallon wanted them to. Maybe nothing would ever fix Ryan, but that wasn't a thought Dallon could deal with right now.

Zero whimpered as Dallon got out, dark beads of her eyes shifting to Ryan, and then back to Dallon. The entire car ride she'd been whining softly, uncomfortably peeking at Ryan, like she didn't recognize him.

She didn't want to stay with Ryan.

It only furthered the ache in Dallon's heart, seeing Zero so afraid of her favourite person. She must not recognize his scent; if Dallon didn't know the dark circles around Ryan's eyes so well, he wouldn't have recognized him either. Even the vivid colour of his hair was fading out, turned a slimy green thanks to whatever was in the air.

Zero and Ryan used to be inseparable. It was common knowledge that she liked Ryan better than him; wherever Ryan was, Zero was there too, attached to his heel. Hell, she even slept on his side of the bed every night, leaving Dallon's feet cold under the blankets. Dallon didn't care much, glad that his dog saw something in Ryan that he hadn't for years.

Maybe their love had died off long before Ryan had actually died. And now, it was too late to save their crumbling relationship.

Dallon had to make a decision; leave Zero with Ryan, who wouldn't hesitate to eat her whole, or bring her with him into a building Dallon might never come out of.

If Dallon was going to die in there, Zero was going to be with him. So along with the baseball bat, he tucked Zero under his arm, the outline of that photo frame under his thick sweater. He'd forgotten that it was still in his shirt, the photo of the two of them on the best day of Dallon's life, pressed right up against his pounding heart. Pulling it away from his chest broke something in Dallon, laying it on the driver's seat and tracing their faces with his hand before shutting the car door, giving Ryan one last glance.

He was looking the other way, watching the clouds shift above them with a childlike fascination, eyes wide and innocent. Blood was caked on his grey skin like ripples in a marble slab, dried underneath the fingernails of his remaining hand, shoulders twisted in an unnatural way. Nothing like the way Ryan used to look, like this was an entirely different person sitting in the backseat of his car.

Dallon just wanted Ryan back in one piece. He'd give anything to redo last night, to keep Ryan and hold him as close as he'd held the picture frame. It was the only piece of the real Ryan Dallon had left, the photo of him smiling widely with his arm around Dallon, rays of sun spilling over both of them like liquid gold. And unless Dallon could break into their storage facility and find his drums, he was going to cherish that photo for the rest of his living days.

Actually... the storage facility wasn't very far from there, and it would be relatively safe hiding place until Dallon could figure out what to do. After collecting supplies, Dallon would head there and fix up Ryan as best as he could.

With Zero and a bat in hand, Dallon made his way towards the front doors of the store, windows dark. He'd never seen it so deserted; usually, it had all its lights on, with people dashing in and out in senseless hurry. If only those people knew their hurries had been worthless in the end.

If only Dallon had known everything he'd done had been worthless in the end.

As he approached the front doors, he spotted a jewelry box smashed on the concrete, splinters of wood and broken gems sprawled out across the pavement. Warily, Dallon bent down and picked up one of the charms, a closed heart locket with a grainy photo of a teary-eyed woman inside. But when he inspected the pieces of jewels closer, they didn't look like gems, so much as... pieces of broken teeth. Blood speckled the inside of them, ripped out of someone's mouth. It was fresh. This was recent.

Just the thought of what had happened there was enough to make Dallon drop the locket with a clack against the ground, backing away from the smashed box like it was cursed. Terror dawned on him, a dark curtain of raw fear sliding down his spine, coaxing chills out of every bone in his body.

Something had happened here, and Dallon didn't want to face whatever fate this person had. The feeling in his stomach doubled, gut warning him on walking any further in, like it was a trap. Zero cried out in uneasiness.

But the store was empty of any creatures. The maze of aisles, which had once been plain, were now haunted with an inhuman presence, like the air before a violent thunderstorm. Or the spark before a fire. Dallon played a morbid game of peekaboo around the corners, expecting to either run into someone alive, half alive, or dead.

That feeling gnawed at his gut, the same way Ryan gnawed at his own hand, telling Dallon to get out of there right now. So Dallon scanned the dark aisles for beef jerky, grabbing some and stuffing it in his sweater where the picture had just laid.

While Dallon had always despised sports, he ran up and down those aisles like he was a football player and Zero was the football. A pack of water bottles, a kitchen knife and a role of bandages joined the rest of the supplies in his backpack, heavy on Dallon's back as he lugged it towards the exit.

There was no sense in paying, but Dallon still fumbled for his wallet and pulled out a few bills, leaving them on the counter for whoever may find them. That's the way he was raised, and a zombie apocalypse wasn't going to stop his good morals.

Dallon completely avoided the collage of teeth and wood on his way out, looking both ways before darting across the parking lot towards the only car in it. Ryan was laying on the floor and staring at the ceiling with absolutely no emotion, ignoring Zero's low growls as Dallon set her down on the passenger's seat.

No matter how many times Dallon saw it, the sight of Ryan still knocked all the air out of his lungs, a new realization falling over him every time he glanced at what was left of his boyfriend. An invisible rope was tightened around his lungs, a higher power pulling at the string until Dallon could barely breathe, vision tunneling in until his eyesight was stolen.

And Dallon knew he deserved the irreversible mountain of guilt, that tangle of shame that fed off his insecurities and worries.

Thankfully, Dallon had visited their storage facility enough times to know where the building was by heart. It was the place where they stored their instruments and sound equipment when they weren't out touring, or when they weren't practicing. The building was off of the highway, so Dallon navigated his way to the empty lanes and gunned it, not one other person in sight.

It actually calmed him, not wanting anyone else to face the mess he had made by kicking Ryan out. Dallon couldn't help but wonder where that other survivor was headed, or what the government was doing, and what had happened to that anxious news reporter after the television signal cut out.

Just off of one of the exits, a military tent came into sight, white tarps stretched across metal bars as a protection from the rain that started to fall. Men with guns drawn were milling about, hands gripping them threateningly, wearing thick combat boots and vests that put Dallon's sweater to shame. Dallon slowed the car as he approached the camp, relief cracking inside him like a glowstick, thankful that this nightmare could finally be over and he could be protected.

And then he remembered Ryan. These people wouldn't hesitate to put a bullet through his head, discarding him easily. They didn't know that a man with complex thoughts and feelings still lived behind that mask of incompetence, and they'd act deaf to Dallon's attempts at explanations. And then, not only would Dallon have one layer of blood on his hands, but a second one.

So Dallon sped past them, praying that they weren't looking at Ryan, who was pressed up against the window in curiosity. Their stone gazes made Dallon's skin prick, all eyes fixated on the shitty old car and the half-alive duo.

Dallon refused to turn around, speeding faster down the freeway, searching for his exit to the storage facility so he could fix up his mistakes. He was dead-set on changing Ryan back, to bring the sunlight and fervor of that perfect day back into his eyes, and to deal with that fiery personality once again. Dallon wouldn't even care if they fought again, just to hear the annoyance in Ryan's deep voice, or to wake up to him fully clothed in bed.

Anything would be better than this. Dallon would deal with Ryan's carelessness a thousand times before he'd let this happen again.

But unlike Ryan's hangovers, no amount of aspirin could cure the remorse that squeezed Dallon's lungs.

And he couldn't help but feel that he deserved it.

**\- RYAN'S INNER DIALOGUE -**

Huh.

I'm back. I think. Who knows if I ever truly left.

The thing still controls me. I know that. I don't know very much else.

The nice man keeps looking at me. I don't want him to. It's not fair that he knows what I look like, and I can't even remember my name.

Did I ever have a name?

I don't think it matters. I'm lost. And cold. Before, I couldn't feel anything. But now all I feel is the cold, and the emptiness inside me. I want it to go away.

It's scary to not know anything. That's another thing I do know. That the emptiness inside me isn't normal. I'm sure the nice man doesn't feel empty.

I don't think I'm the same as the nice man. His eyes look clear, like they can see everything they need to. I can barely see anymore. The thing inside me keeps my eyesight for itself, and I don't have a choice but to comply. It's greedy.

I think it's started to eat inside me. It was angry I had no food, so now I'm the food. Maybe that explains the emptiness inside me.

I begged it to sleep. I just want to sleep. I don't want anything else but to rest my eyes. But it said no. It needs to keep me awake, or else I'll never wake up again.

I'd be fine with that. I just want to rest.

I'm really scared now. I don't know what the thing will make me do, and I don't know what it's doing to me. I wanna go home.

Please let me go home. Please let me sleep.

The hunger is worse. I didn't think it could get worse, but the thing doesn't just want food anymore. It needs it. And it's making me do anything for it.

So I put my hand in my mouth to shut it up. Maybe it would trick it into thinking it was food. My hand didn't taste very good, but the thing was satisfied. It was quiet. If I could be happy, I would be.

But I'm not. I'm empty. And the nice man is getting mad at me again, and I can't tell him why I have to do this. I hate it. I hate everything.

I would give anything to cry. If I still remember how. But I'm scared that if I cry, the thing will steal that for itself too. It took all my thoughts, and then my emotions, and now it's taking my body.

I don't want it to take the nice man too. He's all I have left, and I can't lose him. After I lose him I'll have nothing.

I don't know how this happened. The nice man looks like he knows, but he's not telling me. He's only looking at me with sad eyes, like he's wishing something, the same that I'm wishing. I don't want him to be lost like me.

Fuck, I just want to be sad. I want to feel something. What did I do to deserve this?

The nice man is leaving. I don't want him to leave. I don't know if he'll ever come back and help me, or if he's leaving me forever. I can't even look at him. The thing won't let me.

I liked it better before, when all I could feel was the hunger. Now, the only thing inside me is fear and darkness. I think the thing is eating my insides. I want it to stop. I want to be numb again. I don't like being scared.

The nice man took the creature with him. I know it didn't want to be around me. I wish I wasn't who I am.

I think I'm a monster. No, the thing inside me is the monster. I can't do anything to stop it. This isn't me.

I don't know who I am. My brain is empty.

I'm cold. And scared. And alone. I haven't seen anyone like me in a while. Maybe I'm the only one left, and everybody else is normal. Maybe I'm a freak.

I don't know why the nice man decided to take me with him. He should've chosen someone else, someone who knows who they are. I'm useless.

Just put me out of my misery. At least then I'll be able to sleep.

I fucking hate the thing. I hate it so much. But when I think about hating it, it only steals more from me. More words. More feelings. And it eats more of my insides.

Make it go away. Please. I want the man back. He's all I have left. And I'm starving. At this point, I wouldn't mind eating him.

Anything to stop the hunger. It's hard to care about anything when you don't know who you are.

He's back. He's back. The man is back. And he comes with more stuff. But there's a look in his clear eyes... scared. Maybe he's scared too, and if I know anything, it's what it's like to be scared.

Nevermind. I don't want to eat the nice man. He didn't leave me. I think I like him.

He's all I have left. It's getting harder to see. It's getting harder to think, and it's so tiresome. I wish I didn't have to think so much, but I don't want to put the thing in my head in control again. I don't know what it might do to the nice man.

I don't know what it might do to _me_.

The more I feel, the stronger it gets. It's feeding off of my emotions, all those horrible feelings inside my empty body. It needs them to thrive, and I have plenty to give.

But that man... he makes them quieter. Whenever I see him, a good feeling fills the empty space inside me. And it's addicting.

I can't lose the nice man. He's all I have left. So I'll keep fighting against the thing and make sure I don't hurt him more than I already have.

I don't want the nice man to hurt because of me.

I don't know.

**\- END OF PART 3 -**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this chapter was a bit shorter, but i'm back, and i come bearing fruits!! next chapter should hopefully be posted tomorrow, and if not, then the next day <3
> 
> i was eating lasagna and i was like "wait i have a chapter to post" hjhghjkl
> 
> hope everybody is having a good week!! :)


	4. Part 4 - i don't believe whatever this is (until you burn all of the witches)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for suicidal thoughts
> 
> <3

**\- DALLON -**

The storage facility was easy enough to break into.

With Ryan attached to his leg, and Zero under his arm, Dallon swung the bat into the glass of the door and watched it shatter into a thousand pieces.

Dallon couldn't help but relate to those broken pieces of glass, sprinkled across his shoes like shards of snowflakes, some of them in Ryan's hair. It had been enough work dragging Ryan out of the car without taking off another limb, and now he was laying with his head next to Dallon's boot, drooling blood onto the pavement. More of his iris had slipped away into that swampy green, a telltale sign that even more of Ryan was being eaten by the parasite.

It wasn't looking very good for either of them. Dallon's phone had died, and now it was as useful as a brick of metal. Add the horrible way his stomach was growling, and the dismal tangle of emotions in his gut, and Dallon was seconds away from feeding himself to Ryan and giving up.

As soon as his bat had connected with the glass, an alarm began to blare, a resemblance to all the car alarms Dallon had been hearing. This one was louder, almost like it was screaming at the top of its lungs, and was accompanied by flashing orange lights that lined the dark hallway of storage units. They faded on and off, blinking in a menacing manner that made Dallon's palms sweat inside the gloves, reaching in through the hollow window and unlocking the door from the outside.

With a guttural grunt, Dallon pulled Ryan up and slung him over his shoulder again, ignoring the soft wheeze he made in response. Zero tried to pull her head away from under Dallon's arm, squealing and whimpering, all because she didn't want to be near Ryan.

Dallon had to pretend it didn't hurt. If he didn't pretend he was strong, just as he always did for Ryan, then he'd break down right then and there. And as much as the world was spinning around him, buildings crashing down in his head, everything imploding in on itself- Dallon had no choice but to pretend he was fine, all for Ryan's sake.

The only other option was giving up.

All Dallon wanted, right now, was to hold onto Ryan's remaining hand. To hold it tightly. Tight enough that the real Ryan inside there could feel him, could feel the pure love in his grasp.

And Dallon would tell him he loved him. He'd spill everything he loved about Ryan, from his witty sense of humour, to how amazing he was at drums, to how every small detail about him was perfect. Dallon would confess to turning up Ryan's mic at concerts just to hear him sing, all the times he'd pressed his ear against the bathroom wall as Ryan was showering to hear him hum lyrics to himself, and tell him about all the half-completed love songs Dallon had written for him.

And all Dallon really wanted was to know that Ryan could hear him. That the words had sunk into a part of his brain, that he'd understand that Dallon meant all of them, and that Ryan would know that Dallon never meant for him to die.

But communication was impossible at this point. As he trudged down the never-ending hallway with heavy feet, Ryan thrown over his shoulder, Zero wriggling under his other arm, Dallon contemplated sitting down and never standing back up again. His final wish was that Ryan could know how much he loved him, but any effort to truly achieve that was futile, a waste of time. Their happy ending that Dallon had envisioned would never happen, not when Dallon couldn't even let Ryan know that he loved him.

The thought that stung the hardest was that the last words Dallon had ever spoken to him were the opposite of loving. They weren't even true; Dallon never truly meant to kick him out. In that moment, he'd only wished that Ryan could magically grow up, and that was that.

Dallon didn't know it'd lead to an irreversible mistake. He didn't know it'd lead to _this_.

Finally, their storage unit. Number 1981, the same year Dallon had been born.

Smashing this door was easier than the first one, alarms still screeching, tangerine lights still flashing above them. The sight of his instruments used to spark a thrill inside Dallon, but now, they were only a reminder of who the two of them used to be.

They were a ghost of something Dallon had taken for granted- the band. There was no room for music in the world now, and the band wouldn't be complete without Ryan. Dallon wished he'd started the band earlier, that he'd told Ryan his true feelings back after The Brobecks disbanded. Just so they could've had more time before this happened.

Dallon laid Ryan against the wall, dropping Zero, who immediately scampered over to sniff at all their equipment. Ryan's drums laid untouched in the corner, along with the basses Dallon didn't keep at home, his pedalboard, amps, and any other piece of equipment they needed for shows.

"Hey hey hey, it's gonna be okay." Dallon whispered to Ryan, but his voice wasn't heard over the volume of the alarm. Even if he was shouting, Ryan wouldn't hear him. Dallon was only reassuring himself, even though he knew that he was lying. Things weren't going to be okay, and they might not be okay ever again.

Ryan whimpered softly, almost the same as Zero had whimpered. The sound was heartbreaking, but Dallon shoved his own cries back down his throat and pulled out the bandages and bandaids.

The skin on Ryan's cheek has begun to peel as he slumped down further, unable to hold himself upright anymore. It was as if his bones were noodles, flimsy and conforming, head flopping over to the side.

Dallon grabbed a handful of bandaids and peeled off the back of one, pressing it to Ryan's damp skin gently. The fright of his skin coming off was in the back of Dallon's mind, so he was extra careful as he plastered it across the pink gashes on Ryan's face, mindful of his mouth.

He couldn't trust that Ryan could control himself for much longer, especially if he was getting hungry. It was hard enough to accept that Ryan was a monster now, but the added guilt of treating him like a beast was somehow much worse.

If Dallon's wanted to remain alive, he'd have to cover Ryan's mouth somehow, in a material that would be strong enough to keep Ryan's teeth away from his skin. The only expendable things Dallon had on him were his clothes; he could use his sweater, his pants, part of his shoes or the leather gloves.

The leather gloves wouldn't be missed. Dallon peeled off one, catching his lip between his teeth at the way Ryan groaned, sounds that came from the depths of his chest. Nothing was more heart-wrenching than Ryan's hopeless noises, like he was trying to tell Dallon something, but all he was communicating was pain. With every tiny whimper or guttural moan, more and more pain was struck into the hollow cavern of Dallon's heart, blames hiding in the darkest corners of his mind.

Just as it had with the blinker in the car, the nasty voice inside his head chose the rhythm of the alarm, wailing just as loudly as it was.

Dal-lon. Your-fault. Dal-lon. Your-fault.

The knife he'd bought cut through the leather easily enough, revealing the truth resilience of the material. He could only hope Ryan's teeth hadn't somehow gotten sharper, along with all the other mutations he was going through. Rotting flesh, iris shattered into jagged pieces, bones withering away until they were nothing but shards of what used to be. His body was held up like a shitty school project, dried craft glue stretched out like spiderwebs between popsicle sticks. One wrong move, a push or a press that was too hard, and he'd be collapsing under Dallon's touch.

One the leather was cut into something that resembled a mask, Dallon warily held it over Ryan's mouth, going to loop the sides around his ears. His heart broke at the way Ryan shook his head frantically, leaning away from the leather muzzle as if he'd run if he had more strength.

Putting the leather on Ryan reminded Dallon of one of their first dates, when they'd visited a diner on the outskirts of town. It was a rainy day outside, but that didn't dampen their high spirits, sharing a milkshake just like Dallon had seen in all those sappy romance movies.

The way Ryan's eyes crinkled when he smiled was enough to calm Dallon's anxiety, worried that someone they'd know would see them out. Being a rather public figure, Dallon wanted to keep their relationship private for as long as he could before the plethora of fans could invade their life.

"Hey, it's alright. Nobody's here." Ryan reached out and placed his hand on top of Dallon's in comfort, calluses rubbing against Dallon's knuckles. He couldn't help but smile back, shedding some of his nervousness and trying to enjoy their date.

Ryan leaned in to take a sip from the milkshake, accidentally poking his face in the mountain of whipped cream, leaving a dollop on his nose. His adorable giggle was contagious, and before Dallon knew it, he was laughing too, all worries lost.

Dallon had reached over the table to wipe it off his nose with a napkin, a parallel to putting the muzzle on him. Except this time, instead of getting a snappy retort in response, Dallon had to be careful Ryan didn't actually snap at him. If there was any hope for the future, Dallon needed all his fingers to play bass.

"I'm sorry..." Dallon whispered, throat closing up at how hopeless Ryan looked as he fastened the muzzle to his face. Ryan's eyes were not only bleeding with pleads, but actually bleeding, pools of red gathering in the corner as he struggled to blink. _Everything_ was a struggle for him, even breathing, wheezes emerging from him with every laboured breath.

The unavoidable tangle of grief in Dallon's head was growing at an alarming rate, until he couldn't hold back his tears anymore. Something cracked inside his brain at the sight of Ryan in a muzzle, mind tumbling into an abyss, gripping Ryan's remaining hand and trying to ignite a memory in the zombie.

Anything at this point. Even a smidgen of recognition would be enough for Dallon, but it never came. Ryan stared at him with indifference, blood dripping from his eyes, just as tears dripped from Dallon's.

"R-Ryan, I'm sorry-" Dallon choked out before a sob cut him off, the walls of his throat growing tighter. "I-I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry Ryan,"

It was all he could say, pulling his boyfriend's undead body close to him and crying into his dislocated shoulder. Some of his tears washed away the blood caked on Ryan's jacket, but they weren't enough to wash away the parasite from inside him. This wasn't Ryan anymore.

This wasn't Ryan at all. Dallon might as well be weeping into a stranger.

Ryan's hand twitched, slowly snaking around to Dallon's back and resting there. Dallon froze at the gesture, unsure if Ryan was trying to comfort him, or was looking to rip away his sweater and scratch him. It was unnatural, nothing like the way Ryan used to hug him; Ryan's hugs had always been warm and strong, squeezing tight enough that Dallon forgot about every problem and melted into the embrace, surrounded by nothing but love.

That had been before their relationship began to crumble. Now, Dallon couldn't remember the last time he'd truly hugged the real Ryan, not this lousy excuse of a hug that might not even be one. With Ryan's head lolled against the wall, his remaining arm wrapped around one side of Dallon's body, unable to watch more tears slip down Dallon's distraught face.

"Ryan... Ryan, please come back..." Dallon sniffled, sitting back on his haunches and wiping away his tears with the heel of his palm. His nose had begun to run, but Dallon couldn't care less anymore. All he wanted was Ryan to come back to him.

It was a want so strong it ate up everything else Dallon had ever wanted. For Ryan to grow up, for the band to be successful, for a better house and a better car- none of them amounted to how badly he wanted Ryan back, even if he was rude and juvenile and ticked Dallon off more than words could describe.

He'd take it all, just for that unruly personality to fill Ryan's dark eyes once again.

"It's- It's okay. It's gonna be okay." Dallon recited his promise to himself once more, ears ringing even as the alarm finally quieted. "We'll be okay Ryan, we'll- we'll find a cure. I promise. I p-promise."

His voice cracked on the last word, pushing back the fresh batch of tears in his eyes and swallowing them down. Crying didn't do anything, and it wasn't like the old Ryan was there to comfort him anymore. Dallon was as good as alone.

Ryan's head jerked, a snap reverberating through the room as he turned towards his drum set, lifting an arm to point at it.

He knew. A part of Ryan was still in there. The musician blood deep inside him still flowed through his thinning veins, another line of blood trailing down his face like red tears.

Ryan knew.

"Y-Yeah," Dallon croaked out, blinking back his own misery. A watery smile tugged at his lips, brushing Ryan's hair out of his eyes so he could have a better view. "Those are y-your drums. You- You used to be fantastic, Ryan. You were the best drummer I ever had, and the best b-boyfriend I could've ever asked for."

Ryan remained still, studying his drums even after he put his arm down, glazed-over eyes swirling with fascination. If Dallon squinted hard enough, he could spot a tiny piece of iris that hadn't broken off yet, glowing with liveliness-

The same liveliness Dallon saw in Ryan's eyes every night before a show.

It glimmered in the dim orange light like smoldering honey, fading away quickly into the swampy green backdrop of Ryan's eye, the life of the moment dying off. A piece of Dallon's heart seemed to die too, chest aching horribly, despair once again settling into the sensitive spots of his soul.

There had to be some way to fix Ryan, to bring back the man Dallon had grown to love and hate in the same way. There was no such thing as a disease you couldn't cure, right?

Right?

Dallon's shoulders slumped over, cradling his head in his hands and ignoring every thought that was too loud to deal with right now. It really was hopeless. Not even Dallon knew why he was still holding faith that one day Ryan would magically be cured; he'd seen what this did to other people. There was no return. And somehow, it was worse knowing that Ryan's undead fate was all thanks to Dallon's short temper.

It seemed every fault in their relationship could be blamed on Dallon's anxiety and temper; in fact, after their perfect date at the diner, Dallon recalled getting in a fight with Ryan. He couldn't even remember what it was about now, only that in that moment he hated that he loved Ryan, and how frustrated he was that Ryan couldn't understand where he was coming from. That was a reoccurring theme in their relationship, Dallon's yearn for Ryan to look at things from his side for once, which always resulted in miscommunication.

If only Dallon could've told his younger self that one day, he wouldn't be able to communicate with Ryan at all. Because he's half dead.

Even if Ryan was dead, Dallon wasn't. And he needed to eat. His phone had died off, but Dallon guessed it was late afternoon at this point, and he hadn't eaten since last night. The last thing he'd eaten was the dinner he prepared for Ryan, the dinner Ryan had never taken one bite of, before going out and biting humans like a rabid animal.

So Dallon pulled the backpack in front of him and grabbed the bag of jerky, the rip of plastic breaking the heavy silence of the storage unit. He was too numb to smell the dried meat, but Ryan's eyes widened at it, holding out his hand for Dallon to give him some. At least he wasn't completely animalistic.

"Do- Do you want some?" Dallon offered him a piece, dropping it in his trembling palm. Ryan closed his hand around it slowly, bringing it to his face and looking at Dallon expectantly, waiting for him to remove the muzzle.

He put it in his mouth and let it sit there after Dallon took off the leather, chewing on one side with his mouth open. Dallon glanced away, chewing on his own piece of beef jerky as he inspected their instruments and the thick layer of dust on them.

The storage unit didn't have any light except for the dim orange one above the door, buzzing quietly, but continuously. It was the only sound other than Ryan's eating noises, like a bee that wouldn't stop pestering Dallon, enough to get on his already tense nerves. The light illuminated their instruments, shedding the rest of the equipment in shadows, some of the sound equipment outdated and unused. Zero has given up on sniffing around and was curled up next to an amp, tiny eyes closed as she tried to sleep.

Dallon had shut the door behind them, wary of either Ryan escaping, or another infected person finding their way in. As more and more seconds dragged on, Dallon wasn't sure whether he really cared if he was turned anymore.

Truthfully, he didn't know what they were going to do. If him and Ryan were both healthy, he would've stopped at that military camp and stayed there until things cleared up. But going there would've put Ryan in imminent danger, and Dallon couldn't let that happen. Not after he'd already failed once.

The only other option was to stay in the storage facility and wait this out, like a bad storm. But eventually both of them would run out of food; Dallon, human food, and Ryan, humans. It seemed that by not eating anything, the parasite inside Ryan was eating away at him instead, turning his own body against himself. Things would only escalate from here- they hadn't hit rock bottom just yet.

Maybe, if Dallon took things into his own hands, he could finally be satisfied. To force the parasite upon himself, to be swept away from reality, to have his braincells shrivel up and die off. To Dallon, existence without this horrid anxiety would be lush and calm, his only purpose to eat and wreck havoc among the world.

It was the one thing Dallon could control, his entire fate in his hands. At this point, trying to survive seemed pointless; he'd be turned eventually. It was so definite it was like looking into a crystal ball, images of himself just as decayed as Ryan staring back at him with hollow eyes.

Sure, it was pitiful. But if Ryan had to suffer through this because of Dallon, Dallon wanted to share that misery. They could sit in this storage facility and rot for the rest of eternity, side by side, sharing the same bugs and cravings for human flesh. And maybe, when their consciousnesses finally slipped away from reality, Dallon could be at rest knowing that he'd gotten what he deserved.

At this quiet moment, when the room was completely dark except for the shine of the orange light in Ryan's bloody eyes, Dallon knew he was content with that future. It would be a path he'd chosen himself, when it seemed like everything else in life wasn't under his control. And nothing had ever seemed more enticing.

Dallon caught Ryan's eyes, moving to put the muzzle back over his mouth. The bag of jerky was half done, so he tossed the rest over to Zero, who poked her nose in it and took a piece for herself. He hadn't considered what would happen to her, especially if both of her owners died. She was a smart dog; she'd figure out how to fend for herself. Maybe she'd have a better chance if Dallon let her out.

That was when his decision would be fully made. There were two options:

1\. Let Zero out = give up and turn into the undead.

2\. Keep Zero in = keep fighting and remain alive.

One of those options looked a lot easier than the other. So Dallon, in the weak state of mind he was in, opened the storage room door and ushered Zero out. She didn't get up immediately, staring at Dallon as if to say 'are you serious?'.

His already shattered heart chipped again at those beady black eyes, full of the same betrayal Ryan's had been. After Dallon pointed out the door again, she stood up on little legs and hopped out, looking back one last time at Dallon with disappointment.

He was giving up, and even his dog knew. She'd be better off on her own, where both Dallon and Ryan wouldn't try to eat her like a rotisserie chicken, but the sight of her scurrying down the hall still stung Dallon's heart.

Perhaps he should savor those feelings. It'd be the last time he'd ever feel them, and they deserved a goodbye.

This anxiety and shame hung over Dallon all the time, even before he'd thrown Ryan's undead fate upon him. It seemed to start ever since he was a kid, sitting in class and worrying about what to say when his name was called for attendance, all the way to fidgeting nervously before a show. In his entire life, the only thing that had cured that vile taste of anxiety were Ryan's kisses, the short ones he'd give when Dallon was on the brink of panicking.

But this time, as Dallon's heart beat at an incredibly rate, almost as if it was vibrating out of his chest- Ryan couldn't kiss him.

Or could he? That was what Dallon wanted, wasn't it? To be infected by the disease?

Instead of Ryan's kisses being the cure, they'd be the poison. Dallon never knew he could look forward to being sick this badly.

Ryan had gone back to groaning, a dried line of blood marking his face, hair plastered to his matte forehead. Where skin usually held shininess, it was dried out, every hollow spot on his empty face deeper than ever. Even his eyes had sunken into his face, ashy rings of grey surrounding them, like he hadn't slept a day in his life.

The sight only polished the crystal ball in Dallon's mind, new images flashing through. Him and Ryan, groaning in harmony, heads leaning on one another. Limp hands woven together. Decaying flesh growing together, like they'd been sewn into one person by their skin. Cobwebs strung across the holes in their body like Christmas lights. Sharing everything and absolutely nothing.

None of it would matter anymore. Dallon would get the ending he deserved, dying slowly next to Ryan, all his anxiety and worthless worries long dead. Every fight him and Ryan had ever had would be forgotten by both, the only memories inhabiting their mind of the two of them decomposing.

And years later, when they'd their bones would be found tangled together, the world would know how much Dallon loved Ryan, and how he'd expressed it in the only way he could.

One last kiss, and everything would be forgotten. Was it twisted that Dallon was almost... excited?

Maybe they could get a nice shared tombstone.

Maybe a poem would be written about them.

Dallon didn't feel that they'd be missed much.

He knelt in front of Ryan and stared deeply into his wandering eyes, hoping to lock in a moment of liveliness once more. But that moment never came, murky green swaying like waves washing up on a shore, bringing tangled of seaweed up with them.

"Ryan," Dallon cooed in a singsong voice, cupping his boyfriend's frozen cheek. A block of ice would be warmer than he was, almost burning Dallon's hand with how frosty his skin was, fading a horrible green-grey colour.

Dallon had given up on being wary of Ryan's mouth, but he didn't try to bite him, only staring in a muddle of confusion at Dallon's cheerful tone.

Ryan's lips were pale, almost as blue as his hair, cracked and speckled with blood. They were parted slightly, tongue resting on the inside of his bottom lip, waiting for Dallon to make the next move.

This was it. Even if the conditions were sub-optimal, Dallon wanted nothing more than one last kiss from Ryan.

If only this were a fairytale, where a true love's kiss could cure even the deadliest of diseases. There had never been anything more certain in Dallon's life than the fact that Ryan was his true love, and that he'd failed to cherish him. But this wasn't a fairytale; it was a grim, morbid reality, a reality Dallon wished he'd never been a part of.

One kiss was all it would take. One kiss.

Dallon plastered his brightest smile on his face for Ryan's sake, but his lower lip trembled, giving away his true feelings. There was no sense in hiding his emotions from Ryan anymore, not when they'd be nothing more than bad memories in just a few minutes.

"R-Ry, I'm sorry-" Dallon whispered, like if he spoke the words any louder they'd convince him to change his mind. "I'm sorry..."

He leaned it, holding his breath as his face neared Ryan's, nerves buzzing and jittering out of fear. Fear that would soon be lost to a tiny little parasite, the thing that would be his ultimate release from this horrid reality.

Just as Dallon's lips were about to brush against Ryan's, the slam of a door down the hall pierced the air, followed by a myriad of heavy footsteps. It made Dallon flinch and jerk away from Ryan, eyes darting to their own storage room door, expecting it to swing open.

They weren't alone.

If this was the military, then Ryan wouldn't be safe. If it was another zombie, then Dallon wouldn't be safe. The outcome for all possible options ended up with one of them in imminent danger.

Dallon slid his hands under Ryan's arms hastily and picked him up, shuffling over to hide behind his drum set. Maybe if they were quiet enough, whoever was here wouldn't hear them, and Dallon could go back to infecting himself.

If he had half a brain more, Dallon would've kissed Ryan right then and there, getting it over with. But he was too preoccupied with holding his finger to his lips and shushing Ryan, who didn't dare make a noise. Even if he couldn't understand what Dallon was saying, he knew he had to be quiet.

The silence screamed in Dallon's ears as he strained to hear those pairs of thick-soled boots, the sound of unit doors rolling open echoing through the hallway. The footsteps and clanging of metal grew louder and closer, but they drowned in the noise of Dallon's heartbeat, holding Ryan close to him in hopes of protecting him.

He held his breath again, worried that making a single noise would give away their location. Dallon's heart had never been more clammy, almost as cold as Ryan's skin, hollowed out by a snake of dread. It coiled tighter and tighter around his heart, all the blood in his body rushing to his head as the unit next to them was opened, low voices muffled by the wall separating them.

Thud-thunk. Thud-thunk. Thud-thunk. For a few moments, all Dallon could hear was the pounding of his frozen heart, head pulsing. There was no doubt that his face was beet red, burning with blood as the footsteps crept closer down the hall.

He pulled Ryan's head to his chest, cradling it and trying to comfort his widened eyes. Or at least that's what Dallon told himself. In reality, he was giving Ryan what might be their last hug ever, even if it was weak and not really a hug.

God, Dallon wanted one last real hug from Ryan. To day a proper goodbye to the man he'd never see again. To apologize, and for all grudges and grief to be dropped.

He just wanted a happy ending.

Dallon's grip tightened on Ryan's floppy head as the clunk of boots stopped right outside their unit, a murmur of gruff voices floating above the stale air. They were too quiet to make sense of, only that their words were short and serious.

Don't let them see you. _Don't let them see Ryan._

Dallon didn't know if he could let Ryan die twice. He didn't know if he could live with the insurmountable guilt.

A loud screech of rusty metal made Dallon huddle down behind the drum set, praying that Ryan didn't decide this would be a good time to bite him. If he was going to be infected, he was going to kiss Ryan one last time. He wasn't going out in an accidental bite.

Clunk.

Clunk.

Clunk.

A beam of a flashlight filled the space next to Dallon, dust floating around in its pillar of light. It swerved in the opposite direction, inspecting old snarls of wires and sound equipment, giving Dallon a peek of the gloved hand that was holding it. The light then moved to Dallon's pedal board, lingering on it for a few moments before it caught a glimpse of Dallon's shoe.

Fuck.

"H-Hey! Show yourself!" A surly voice barked, shining the flashlight fully on the two of them, making the tinsel on Dallon's sweater shimmer.

The voice had attracted the attention of whoever was with him, more clunks of boots coming closer, followed by two more flashlight beams. Dallon was rooted to the ground, holding Ryan much tighter than he should be, a petrified look crossing his face as more silhouettes came into view.

No. _No_. He couldn't let them see him. He couldn't let them see Ryan.

Dallon couldn't let him and Ryan he separated.

But as two pairs of heavily gloved hands reached to pull them apart, Dallon didn't know if there was anything left he could do.

And the lost look on Ryan's face was only making it worse.

**\- RYAN'S INNER DIALOGUE -**

I...

I felt the man's hand.

I don't know how. He was pulling me out of the soft place. And his hand touched my neck.

I like the way his hand feels. It's a new feeling, and it feels so good. Almost like how people taste, but better.

It brushed against my neck so softly, I didn't know that things could be that gentle. I didn't know things could be as nice as the nice man, even if he curses under his breath and makes the animal that doesn't like me go next to me.

But his hand... his hand was nice. I don't think he meant to touch my neck. It was an accident, but it was such a good accident.

Whatever I am wasn't a good accident. It was a bad accident, like when my arm came off, or when it nice man put the big stick thing in the window. And I heard a bad noise. I think I'm starting to hear more things.

But I'm also feeling more things too, not just the nice man's hand. The space where my arm used to be hurts. A lot. So does my head. And my chest. And my face.

Actually, everything hurts. I think. Something's happening to me, and I don't like it. I don't think I'm supposed to hurt like this. But I don't know why I'm surprised. Nothing about me works like it's supposed to.

I wish I was the nice man. Even if he looks worried, and his face keeps scrunching up like he stubbed his toe, at least he can talk. At least he can move properly.

Trying to walk is too frustrating. I want to walk, don't get me wrong, but I just can't. So the nice man has to carry me down the hall. And I can't even say sorry.

He put me down, and I heard my head hit the wall. But I didn't feel it. The thing inside me, it's picky. It chooses what I feel and don't feel.

Right now, it's decided not to be hungry. It's a relief, because the man's fingers keep going close to my mouth, and they smell really good. Not as good as they feel though.

I think he's saying something. The thing decided not to listen. But I want the man to know I'm still here, and that the thing isn't completely in control right now. So I force a noise out of my mouth, and his eyebrows shoot up.

He heard. It makes me feel good inside that the thing can't control all of me. I want to make my own choices again.

It's scary, especially when the man comes close to me. I don't want to hurt him, but I don't know if I'm capable of stopping myself.

Uh. He's putting something on my face. I don't like that at all. I don't want him to touch my face, and I especially don't want something covering my mouth. How will I eat?

The thing doesn't like it either, maybe even more than I do. It made me shake my head, but the man didn't seem to hear me this time. Or maybe he did, and he was just being mean. I didn't think he was mean, but I don't like what he did.

This room is different. There's weird things pushed against the walls, things I can't recognize. Except for one.

I know that. I know what that is. I've- I've seen it before.

_I've seen those drums before._

This man- he must know who I am. He brought me here for a reason, to see these drums. And I used to know him.

When I point at the drums, his eyes go shiny again. They've been doing that ever since I got here, and I don't know what that means. But it can't be anything good.

He keeps pulling me closer and putting his head on my shoulder. I think I like it. But I don't like the noises he makes, the ones that accompany his shiny eyes. They make my insides hurt even more. The thing in my head couldn't care any less about them, but I care about the nice man. I don't want his eyes to be shiny.

The man is saying something again, but the thing decides to tune him out. I wish I knew what he was saying. Maybe he's telling me who I was. But the stupid thing likes to make sure I don't know who I was, and maybe I never will.

But I know the nice man. Or I did. And I know those drums belonged to me.

Oh.

_Oh._ That smells good.

The man took something from his bag. The thing likes it. The thing wants it, and so do I.

So the thing makes my hand jerk out, silently asking for a piece of whatever smells good. I know it's not human, but I can't remember what it is. Maybe it's the same creature as the one in the corner.

But the one in the corner, the creature that doesn't like me, doesn't smell good. If it did, I think I would have eaten it already. I don't know. It's hard to tell what I would and wouldn't do.

I hate being unpredictable. I hate being a puppet for the thing. It gets to do whatever it wants to me, and I'm forced to watch. If I could close my eyes, even for a few moments, I think I'd be able to tolerate it. But now, as I can feel more and more, the way the thing keeps them open is noticeable. They're burning, dried out from not blinking, like knives jabbing into my head.

When I put the piece of animal in my mouth, the thing went quiet inside my mind. It helped me chew, giving me a break from its constant buzzing and demands. The silence was refreshing.

I like it now that the thing is off my face and the thing in my head is quiet. This was alright. But something weird was happening with the man- he's looking at me sad again. That's not alright.

_'Please don't be sad.'_ I tried to make my mouth work, but it just made a sound, nothing close to the words I wanted to say. I could tell the man was thinking about something, deep in his own thoughts, staring at me like he was going to do something.

And then his face was close. Too close. I don't like this. And his face shouldn't be close, not when I wasn't wearing the thing covering my mouth. What happens if I turn him into the same thing that I am?

I don't want that. I _really_ don't want that. The thing in my head in insufferable, and I don't want this nice man to suffer through that too. But his face is getting closer, closer, closer...

Suddenly, he jolts back. I'm relieved. I think the thing was about to make me bite him, and I don't want that. It's bad enough that his eyes are shiny, but I don't want him to hurt more than he already does. If there's a chance that I used to know this man, I can't fathom doing anything bad to him.

Please. I don't wanna.

Maybe I'd be better off sleeping forever. I don't want to be a threat to the nice man. I don't want to be anything anymore.

He dragged me over to my drums. _My drums._ It's amazing to finally know that I was someone before the thing in my head took over. I was worth something before I became nothing.

But I can hear the man's heart. It's shivering, pounding loud and fast in my ear. I can't remember the last time I felt my heart pound like that.

He's scared. And he's pulling me close again. I like it a lot when he does that, when I can feel his heart again my quiet one. When he surrounds me with his arms and squeezes. Except right now he's squeezing kind of hard.

If the nice man is scared, I'm scared too. I don't want to be scared, but more than that, I don't want the nice man to be scared. And I don't want to know what it is that he's scared of.

Wait. No.

No. No no no.

Someone's taking me away from the nice man. No. I can't leave him. Without the man, I'm nothing.

I can't be nothing again. He's all I have. He's the only person who can tell me who I was.

Without him I'm nothing.

Bring him back. Please.

He's all I have.

**\- END OF PART 4 -**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hnggg... zero... :((((
> 
> next chapter should be posted sometime in the next week :)
> 
> leave a comment and let me know what you thought!! i know i know i always say this but every comment i get makes my entire week, and if it wasn't for you guys i probably wouldn't be writing anymore <3
> 
> thank you for reading!! im about to shatter your heart into a million different pieces in the next chapter


	5. Part 5 - whatever they give you (stop drinking it down)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BIG tw for gore, mention of an eating disorder, psychiatric hospitals, hospital stuff in general, surgery, panic attacks and violence. please only read if you're comfortable with all of these, and remember, you are loved and valid <3
> 
> whew this chapter is... something. enjoy !

**\- DALLON -**

"No... no!" A whimper slipped past Dallon's lips as he was grabbed under his arms, ripped away from Ryan. It was as if him and Ryan had an invisible connection, a connection that was now being snapped as Ryan was pulled in the opposite direction, eyes darting between the unidentifiable figure and Dallon.

The sight on his decaying face was enough to make Dallon's heart drop into the pit of his stomach, a look so terrorized and confused it knocked all the air from his lungs. Where Ryan's eyes had been bleeding with pleads before, those pleads were now crystallized, hardened into the dark lines on his face.

_'Don't let them take me away, Dallon.'_ They read, Ryan's wavering voice echoing through the cave of Dallon's head. _'What's going on? Why are they doing this?'_

By now, as more light was shed on whoever had grabbed ahold of Dallon and was dragging him out to the hall, he could see the camouflage pattern of their thick sleeves. In an attempt to stop himself from wherever they were taking him, Dallon dug his heels into the ground, but the soldier overpowered him easily.

Over the piles of instruments and equipment, Ryan came back into view, laying limp as he was brought out into the hall with Dallon. Both of them were thrown against the wall, weakness tugging at Dallon's bones as ache reverberated through them, voice caught in his throat. He managed to fumble for Ryan's hand, lacing them together and holding it firmly, as if that would keep the two of them together.

Alarms were screaming in Dallon's head, telling him to fight back, or to lie and say Ryan was fine. But one of the soldiers shone their flashlight on their faces, and it was obvious Ryan wasn't alive. Just by his eyes alone you could see the parasite's damage, but add the bandages and the tear-trails of blood, and not even a perfect lie could cover this up.

"Code 26, we have a code 26." One of them shouted down the hall, and more footsteps came thudding down, like a rumble of thunder. That was the last thing Dallon wanted, more people to fight, even though there was no hope in fighting any of them even if it was one-on-one. Compared to their physiques, Dallon might as well be a twig, and Ryan might as well be a wet leaf.

"N-No, this is a misunderstanding," Dallon finally found his voice, but it was dripping with horror and anxiety, words too rushed to be comprehensible. "W-We're fine, I'm fine, w-we don't need help."

But his thinly veiled lies didn't convince them, not that he had faith that they would. Adrenaline was pumping through Dallon's body, but not even then could he find the strength to stand up, so he settled with pulling Ryan back to his chest and hugging him tight. Maybe if they looked pitiful enough, they'd let the two of them go.

Fat chance. One of them wrapped their arms under Dallon and scooped him up, walking him away from Ryan.

Ryan, who the others were treating as a wild animal, fastening something else to his face. It was like Dallon's makeshift muzzle, but this one was metal and sharp, and it drew blood from his cheeks from where it was pressing in. Dallon was forced to twist around and watch as more and more distance was put between him and Ryan, heart strangled by the way they shoved him to the ground.

A gun was drawn. That was too much for Dallon to handle. A chunk of his mind crumbled, skin going hot and cold at the same time, burning with fury and freezing with fear.

He wasn't going to let these people discard of Ryan like he was nothing but a piece of rotted meat. Dallon couldn't let his second chance go to waste; there were no chances after this. Only death, one that would be entirely on Dallon's shoulders. It would be so strong it would press him into the ground, concrete swallowing him whole, a weight so great Dallon's body would crumple immediately underneath it.

A scream erupted past his lips, thrashing and kicking in the soldier's hold, trying to wriggle his way to Ryan.

Dallon had let Ryan die once, and he couldn't let him die again. He didn't care if he'd be injured in the process. He didn't care about anything anymore than getting Ryan to safety.

"You- You don't understand. He hasn't hurt anybody. He's not a threat, he- he's nice." Dallon's voice broke as his mind scrambled for new excuses, flashing back to the time Ryan had tried to bite him. That wasn't Ryan's fault, but these people didn't know that. They saw him as nothing more than a threat that needed to be vanquished.

The soldier's grip tightened on Dallon as he resorted to punching and hitting, a husky voice warning him. "Quit it kid, he's not your friend anymore. You gotta let him go."

Dallon didn't have the mental capacity to explain that they weren't friends, that they were so much more. Ryan might've made sure that they were never friends, but it was still Dallon who he fell asleep beside each night, and Dallon who he chose to bicker with. And it was an honor to Dallon, especially now that he knew how much he truly loved Ryan and all his flaws.

He shrieked again, screaming as loud as he could and trying to get away from the soldier grip around him, catching glimpse of Ryan on the floor. His eyes were wide and faltering, a terrified look on his face, but only now did Dallon realize what he was scared of.

Ryan wasn't scared of the gun. He was scared of Dallon's screaming, a noise that startled him, that he couldn't comprehend. Everybody was frightened by things they couldn't comprehend, but Ryan didn't know what was going on at all.

He must be horrified.

The realization was enough to make Dallon furious, searching for one of the soldier's weak spots. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see them press the gun against Ryan's forehead, not one ounce of mercy being spared.

Did they not know that Ryan had once been a human too? A human just like them, with hopes and aspirations and funny little ways to tick Dallon off. A human that deserved unconditional love, a love that he'd never been given in his life, and that Dallon failed to give.

Maybe that's why he was so juvenile all the time, why he found attention in making others mad. Because if nobody was there to love him, then negative attention was the next best thing, and it was easy to get. Maybe Ryan went out and partied because he knew how much it pissed Dallon off, and how basking in Dallon's anger was the only form of love he was ever given.

Dallon liked to think he'd tried at the beginning of their relationship, but that wasn't the truth. That day at the fair was an outlier; Dallon was always too afraid to kiss in public, or to display any type of affection, or to even tell people they were dating. And now, as they neared the doorway to the twisted outside world, Dallon knew what Ryan had needed all along.

He needed Dallon to be angry for him, not at him. And right now, Dallon had never been more livid in his lifetime.

Nobody was going to separate them, not even in the middle of a zombie outbreak. They'd die together, even if it had to be on the cold concrete floor of the storage facility.

Dallon was going to take a page out of Ryan's book, let it be the last thing he ever did. There was a small patch of exposed skin on the soldier's arm between their shirt and glove, and while Dallon couldn't say he had an appetite for human flesh, he'd never looked forward to biting someone more.

As soon as his teeth sunk into the soldier's skin, he yelped and dropped Dallon like he was hot, arm shooting to his face to inspect the bite mark.

Relief flushed through Dallon's sweaty, tear-streaked face, but there wasn't enough time to relish his accomplishments. On wobbly legs, he sprinted down the hall towards Ryan, nothing else existing in the world except for the frightened expression of Ryan's face.

His legs moved in slow motion, like he was in a bad dream, not able to reach Ryan fast enough. An invisible sludge had filled the floor of the storage facility, and Dallon couldn't trudge through it quick enough before someone was tackling him, pinning him to the ground just out of reach of Ryan.

" _No!_ " A sharp gasp was pulled from Dallon's mouth as his chest connected with the ground, choking on the air that had been knocked from his lungs.

He had been so close.

Dallon's body went cold, hyperventilating as he tried to claw his way to Ryan. He wanted to touch Ryan, to feel his skin against his own one last time, even if Ryan's skin didn't hold the same warmth it used to.

Dallon didn't want to- he _needed_ to feel Ryan.

He'd never admitted this to anyone, but sometimes, late at night after Ryan had stumbled into bed with his clothes on, Dallon would undress him and trace his skin. There was something so comforting about feeling Ryan's skin under his fingertips, burning hot from the fervor of his past night, tense muscles relaxing under Dallon's gentle touch. It was a relief knowing that Ryan was too hungover to wake up, especially when Dallon's emotions would get the best of him and he'd kiss Ryan anywhere he could, wishing he could cherish him in public as much as he did in the comfort of their bedroom.

Of course, Dallon would never tell Ryan that, about the nights he'd slip off Ryan's shirts and jackets and drag his lips across his skin like he was trying to taste the saltiness of Ryan's sweat. Or the nights where Dallon would prop himself up on his pillow and stare at Ryan's sleeping face, studying the creases around his eyes, wishing he could give Ryan the affection he deserved. But not even onstage, where all of Dallon's anxiety disappeared, could he admit to Ryan that he loved him.

Now, as Ryan's hand twitched and the tips of their fingers brushed, Dallon knew he could admit it with his heart and soul alike.

"I love you." Dallon uttered, and something sparked in Ryan's eyes. Smoldering honey. The buzz and excitement before a show.

_Ryan._ He understood.

But it was too late. Something warm and electric was pressed to Dallon's back, and his entire body seized up, muscles clenching and refusing to release. Tremors of electricity ran through his body as his vision dimmed, eyelashes lacing his view of Ryan's face, which gazed at him with panic and dismay instead of the understanding it just had.

The metal muzzle was clamped around his mouth, and Dallon couldn't help but whimper, body twitching with the remains of the shock he'd suffered. The top of it dug into his cheekbones hard enough to coax tears from his eyes, unable to move his jaw and explain that he wasn't infected, or to at least say goodbye to Ryan. His vision was flashing between black and white, everything suddenly too dark, and then too bright to handle.

The last thing Dallon saw before he passed out completely was Ryan's face, the barrel of a gun pushed to his forehead, something shiny slipping down his cheeks.

Tears. Ryan was crying for Dallon. It was like a punch to the gut, but Dallon was too paralyzed to move to comfort him. The coldness of the concrete floor seeped into his back before Dallon fainted, world swirling with darkness.

He'd failed his promise to keep Ryan safe.

It was too late.

And never again would he be able to admit to Ryan just how much he loved him.  
  
  
  


Dallon had regained some of his consciousness in the ambulance, but his head was too fuzzy to stay awake long enough to figure out what was going on. It was as if someone had stuffed him full of cotton, a poorly made doll that was coming apart at the seams, stitches loose and frayed.

The muzzle had been taken off his mouth, he knew that at least. And that something was pinching his arm. Hard. Dallon went to cry, but his mouth wouldn't work. In fact, none of his body worked, strapped to a stretcher with restraints holding him in place.

He teetered on the edge of consciousness before fainting again, letting the slum of the darkness pull him away from a reality that was too hard to deal with right now. Dallon couldn't remember the last time he'd slept this deeply, undisturbed by dreams, nothing but black flowing through his weary mind.

It was a strange type of peacefulness, one he didn't know how to make sense of. In a twisted sense, Dallon was glad that the entire matter was out of his hands now, but his chest still caved in at the thought that Ryan was most likely dead. And for real this time.

When he came to once again, he was laying in a hospital bed, restraints clasped around his arms and legs. The room was plain enough, with yellow walls that added to Dallon's grieving headache, and a window that overlooked the bland courtyard. On its sill was a small calendar, displaying the month and day, along with a photo of kittens playing with a ball of yarn.

This wasn't a normal hospital room; this was a long term one, the kind his aunt had been put in when she was losing her memory. Dallon was in the psychiatric part of the hospital, where patients with mental health issues stayed while they were monitored closely.

At the realization, Dallon sat up quickly in bed, a dull pain washing over his body. Some parts of him were numb, like his fingertips and his toes, but others were throbbing horribly with ache like he'd been stung by a thousand bees.

The events of the past night came rushing back as Dallon struggled against the restraints, bed wheezing beneath him.

Beef jerky. Zero. A kiss. Soldiers. _Ryan_.

"Ryan?" Dallon called out in an unsteady voice, like he'd magically appear at the sound of his name. But instead of a healthy Ryan walking in through the door, a woman in a grey sweater entered the room, a clipboard in hand. Blonde hair fell over her shoulders in waves, a tiny name card clipped to her shirt that read 'Breezy'.

"I see you're finally awake, Mr. Weekes." She spoke calmly, voice like a soothing ice pack on the bruises of Dallon's brain. The coolness only lasted a moment before his mind began to rush again, worry after worry filtering through, too many questions to ask all at once.

"W-Where am I? What's going on? _Where's Ryan?_ " Dallon tripped over his words, tugging at the restraints once more. His skin was slick and sweaty underneath them, and the hair on his arm kept getting caught in the clasp, ripping out when he pulled at them.

The woman, Breezy, took a seat at the chair in the corner of the room, glancing over to the calendar. She clicked her tongue when she realized it was on the wrong month, reaching over and flipping it to the right one, a photo of puppies play-fighting accompanying the dates.

Oh, Zero. The thought of her pulled at Dallon's fragile heart, stray tears slipping down his cheeks, salty on his cracked lips as he ran his tongue over them. He was such an idiot to let her go out into a world that wasn't safe anymore; and to think that it was in the name of her safety. Dallon really was as big as an idiot as Ryan used to call him.

"Now, Mr. Weekes, it's important to stay calm during times like these." Breezy responded with a gentle smile, but it didn't cool Dallon's nerves. He didn't want to stay fucking calm- how could he stay calm when two thirds of his immediate family were as good as dead, and the blood was lathered on his hands?

She continued, smile faltering with each word. "You're in the psychiatric wing of the Salt Lake City Medical Center, and I'm your assigned therapist. I see on your chart you're marked down to be prone to violent tendencies, would you say that's true?"

What? Violent tendencies? Dallon had never considered himself violent, and he didn't need a snooty, happy-go-lucky shrink to tell him that.

"Where's Ryan?" Dallon repeated, eyes trailing down his outfit. Someone had replaced his Christmas sweater with a sky blue hospital gown, blankets pulled up over it, thin sheets that didn't offer much protection from the cool air of the room. Framed photos of flowers lined the wall, all in greyscale, with dew drops hanging onto their petals.

Dew drops clung to Dallon's eyelashes as sympathy crossed Breezy's young face, the type of weak smile people gave before bad news. Her lips didn't move, but Dallon knew exactly what she was about to say, and how she'd dress up the death of his boyfriend.

"I know it can be hard losing a loved one..." Her mouth tightened into a grimace, like she didn't want to be having this conversation at all. But the torrential downpour had already begun in Dallon's mind, soft sobs escaping his lips as everything crumbled inside him.

Ryan was gone, for real this time. There was no return. Those soldiers had probably put a bullet through his head with no second thought and left his corpse on the floor of the storage unit for someone else to clean up. Just the thought of the inhumane was they'd treated him was enough to flood Dallon's eyes with tears, seething through his teeth.

"W-Where is h- h-" Dallon couldn't get the words out, interrupted by a hiccup, straining against the restraints. He wanted hide in his arms and weep from the privacy of his own embrace, not out in the open with a stranger, who could read the emotions on his tearful face like a book.

"He's in a much better place now, Dallon." She used his name in hopes of comforting him, but it was hopeless. Nothing would comfort the hollowness of Dallon's chest, the way he could taste his own shame on his tongue, the way his entire body shook like a house in a hurricane.

Nothing except Ryan.

"I-I want him back, please make him come back..." Dallon cried, bed creaking beneath him as he pulled against the restraints as hard as he could. They were leaving red marks in his skin the more he struggled, but Dallon was numb to them, numb to everything but the way his heart twisted in agony. "M-Make him come back..."

He knew what he was saying was delusional, yet he still begged Breezy to bring Ryan back, breaths torn in two by the jagged lump in his throat. Her hurt expression only deepened, brows knit together, clutching to the clipboard with white knuckles.

Dallon wanted to scream. He wanted to scream and cry and kick and tear his hair out until he was a puddle of misery, wallowing in his own guilt. He wanted someone, anyone else to blame for Ryan's death, but it all fell on him.

The weight of Ryan's death laid on Dallon, a shame so all-consuming it made his blood broil with a hatred for himself for letting this happen. For never telling Ryan how much he truly loved him, how much he cared and how much Ryan was _wanted_ by someone. For how badly he needed Ryan to survive, because right now, as Dallon's world held an absence of neon blue hair, he could barely breathe.

"Dallon..." Breezy's voice was quiet, clicking her nails against the clipboard. The sound was too loud for Dallon, face soaked by his tears, drowning in his own remorse. "I know it's difficult to accept, but the sooner you acknowledge his death, the sooner life can go back to normal."

"I-I don't want normal, I want _Ryan_." Dallon whined, eyes too swollen to see out of anymore. He didn't care about how immature he was sounding, like a kid who was asking for a balloon animal when his mom had said no. "Wh- What if he's okay? What if he's still alive and- and lost, and doesn't know where he is?"

Dallon could picture Ryan, a bullet hole marking his forehead, sitting against the wall with nothing behind his eyes. He'd be so scared, and so utterly alone, with nobody to help him learn about the world all over again.

And Dallon was here, only thinking about himself and what would happen to him, while Ryan could be disoriented and bewildered by the sight of his own hand. What if Ryan was in danger? What if he needed Dallon, and thought that Dallon had left him?

Breezy's concerned look made Dallon shrink away into the hospital bed, sniffling pathetically, breaths stuttering as he tried to catch them. He loathed the woeful shine in her eyes, the way she was putting on a fake display of sympathy she was paid to do. And Dallon knew it wasn't right, but he hated how easily she could talk about Ryan's death, how she dismissed it like it was nothing.

She couldn't know how broken Dallon was inside. She couldn't understand the vileness that swam through his veins, how positively selfish he felt, bones quivering underneath the shame of his faults.

Breezy sighed and glanced down at her clipboard, scribbling something down while Dallon picked up the shattered pieces of his soul.

"Your friend... were you two close?" She chewed on her bottom lip, pushing a stray curl of hair out of her face.

Friend? She didn't even know how close they were?

"He's not my friend." Dallon said, face glowing with anger and the remnants of his mourning. "We- we were partners. I loved him, and I let h-him down."

Dallon didn't just let Ryan down; he let him die. Twice.

And if anyone deserved to be coddled in a warm hospital, Ryan did. Not Dallon, who was strapped to a bed, embarrassing himself in front of a woman he'd never met before.

If only Ryan were here. He'd make some dirty joke about the straps on Dallon's arms and kiss his cheek, lips lingering for a moment before they'd turn up into a smirk. Ryan would bring him shitty hospital food and sit with him for hours, talking his ear off about some band Dallon had never heard of. And once Ryan would take a break to catch his breath, those raven eyes would finally land on Dallon, crinkling with love and a hint of amusement.

But he wasn't here. He was dead, or worse, alone. Dallon's denial in his death was toxic, but it lent him some comfort, the comfort this therapist couldn't give him.

Dallon wished he'd kissed Ryan sooner. Anything would be better than being judged by Breezy, all his emotions and thoughts laid out on the bedspread, face swollen and blotchy.

If only he'd kissed Ryan sooner.  
  
  
  


"Good morning Dallon, how are we feeling today?" The low hanging sunlight from outside cast a glow on Breezy's face, hair shimmering like threads of gold. Today she was wearing a blue sweater with sunflowers sewn onto it, one Dallon hadn't seen in the past week.

"I'm okay... do you have any new markers?" Dallon asked, popping the cap back on his yellow. The day after he'd first arrived, they finally took the restraints off of Dallon, and since then he'd taken up drawing again.

A rainbow of off-brand markers sat sprawled across the table in front of Dallon, framing his latest sketch of the puppies on the calendar. As a twisted joke, he'd added devil horns and spiky tails to the innocent golden labs, giving them angry eyebrows and snake tongues. Breezy was less than satisfied in his artistic edits, but at least she'd stopped bothering him about Ryan and only talked about him now.

The first couple of days were absolute hell. Dallon didn't sleep one blink, watching the sun return and disappear until his eyes burned, and even then he didn't dare close them. Every time he closed them all he could see was Ryan, slumped against the storage facility wall, gnawing at his own hand until it snapped cleanly off.

A drummer with one hand was bad enough, but a drummer with no hands was impossible. Dallon didn't know why he was still holding out hope that Ryan would ever drum again; nobody knew where Ryan was, and if they did, they weren't telling Dallon.

He'd been put on a feeding tube after refusing to eat, and not just because the hospital food was disgusting. Dallon couldn't fathom the idea of keeping himself alive while he'd let Ryan die, and this stupid hospital wouldn't let him starve himself.

Him and Breezy had been talking more, and he'd shed some of the guilt that inhabited every corner of his mind. They discussed what it meant when Dallon bit the soldier, the reason why he blamed himself for Ryan's death, and why he had an issue expressing affection in front of others. Dallon had learned more about himself this week than he had in his entire life, and while he scowled at some of the things she said about him— things he didn't want to hear about himself— he laid awake at night pondering if they were true.

Once the violent tendencies had been checked off his chart on Breezy's clipboard, his arms were finally given a break from the restraints and he was allowed to explore the ward.

The courtyard outside was barren, but it made for good fresh air when the waves inside his mind began to fold in on themselves. It was when the waves crested that he needed out of his room, out of the yellow labyrinth of the endless hospital hallways. Other people dawdled around the courtyard, but Dallon didn't take any interest in starting a friendship that would be meaningless in the end.

Inside of the hospital walls was safe, sheltered away from the horrors of the outside world. None of the doctors were allowed to tell any of the patients what was going on, not that Dallon wanted to know anything. Even if his curiosity got the best of him, Dallon relinquished those thoughts as quickly as he could; they only brought back images of Ryan, eaten away by the parasite.

A few days into the week, Dallon had wandered into the outskirts of the psychiatric ward, finding himself glancing out the windows of the locked doors. He wouldn't dare break any of the heavily regulated rules about leaving the premises of the ward, but today, he just needed to know that other people existed. That the world still spun outside the hospital doors, and that the population hadn't been entirely devoured by the infected.

But Dallon caught a glimpse of someone else strapped to a stretcher, the exact same way Dallon had been. And they were undead, the same species as Ryan was.

Their skin hadn't decayed as far as Ryan's had, but it was still grey and waxy, limp hands peeking out from beneath the blanket. If Dallon didn't know any better, he'd think that they were dead, but their eyelashes fluttered and their golden eyes darted around the room in distress. A metal muzzle was clamped to their face, the same muzzle that had been put on both Ryan and Dallon, catching the glint of the fluorescent hospital lights.

The sight was enough to send Dallon into a downwards spiral, tripping over his own feet as he rushed back to the safety of his room, a panic attack setting onto his mind. Breezy had taught him how to notice the signs, when his mouth would go dry and his hands would shoot to his arms, stroking them in an attempt to comfort himself.

Breezy had already gone "home", which really meant the block of apartments that was guarded by big men with guns. She'd been at work when the disease broke out, but she wasn't allowed to say anything more to Dallon, quickly changing the topic of the conversation to Dallon's connection to music.

It was fine though- he'd been dealing with panic attacks his entire life without Breezy's help. But all those past panic attacks had been insignificant compared to this one, where the burden of Ryan's death fell on him all over again and every thought he'd been suffocating resurfaced with double the venom.

Eventually, Dallon worked his way through it, when a nurse popped her head in near the end of his attack.

"You alright, Dallon?" She asked, coming in to sit on the edge of his bed with him. Dallon could only nod his head, smoothing out his trousers and letting his head hang heavy, thankful he didn't shed any tears this time. He didn't really want to explain to the nurse where he'd been and what he'd seen, especially not when his voice was still stuck in his throat.

The nurse sat with him for a while as he sorted out his mind, staring at a pair of shoes that weren't his. It was deemed unsafe to go back to his house and get clothes, so Dallon was given rented clothes that sagged too big in the hips and were too short on his arms, and shoes that squeaked with every step.

Today, as Breezy arrived at his room with a cup of cafeteria coffee in hand and her bag in the other, Dallon was wearing a pair of grey drawstring pants and a polo shirt with a loose collar. Sunlight impaired his vision as he squinted out the window, sitting at his desk and sketching the calendar photo, grateful that he'd found the stomach to eat that morning. Even though the feeding tube had been removed a couple days ago, Dallon still felt the ghost of it up his nose and back his throat, itching the walls of his insides that he couldn't reach.

He could feel Breezy walk up behind him, clicking her tongue at glimpse of his artwork, full lips curving into a frown.

"Why are they evil?" She asked, dropping her bag on the chair in the corner and taking a seat. A full smile didn't cross Dallon's face— one hadn't since the day he's arrived— but he gave her a tight-lipped attempt at one, watching the yellow marker roll off the back of the desk and into the windowsill.

"I dunno. I never draw anything nice, just superheroes and cyborgs 'n stuff." Dallon shrugged, tapping his fingers against the paper, thick tape plastered to its edges. It was there to prevent him from cutting himself on it, not that Dallon normally tried to get papercuts- they just happened. But everything in the ward was fitted to make sure nobody could hurt themselves on it, from his shower curtain, to his hangers, to his sink faucet and doorknob.

Dallon's hobby for drawing hadn't had much time to thrive in his adult life, but now he had all the time he needed, waiting for the undead world outside to pass him by. The first time he'd drawn again, it was an old character from a show Dallon used to watch as a kid, a corny superhero accompanied by sound effects in spiky air bubbles that read 'Blam!' or 'Pow!'.

It had been comforting, the sight of his old talent creeping back into his life, his childhood fascination with superheroes reigniting. But Breezy told him he should focus his talent on something that didn't promote violence; something that didn't "spark the violent urges to protect yourself that you're hiding deep down". So now, Dallon complied in the most malicious way he could, taking nice things like flowers and birds and turning them into twisted mutants. Even if the outside world wasn't allowed inside, it wasn't like Dallon could erase everything he'd seen since the outbreak, and putting down some of the horrors he'd witnessed on paper helped him in a sense.

While he was improving daily, Dallon never allowed Breezy to talk about Ryan again. Anytime he was brought up, let it be who he was, or what he'd turned into, Dallon shot down her line of questions immediately, going to rub his arms and soothe himself. There were some topics that were too touchy to handle, open wounds that hadn't scabbed up yet, and may never fully heal. And Dallon was content with keeping Ryan locked in a tiny box in the back of his mind, letting his subconscious deal with the parade of self-deprecating thoughts that came whenever one of Breezy's acrylic nails brushed against the wound.

"What level are we at today? Yesterday you were at a four, which is a big improvement from your one at the beginning." Breezy pulled out her clipboard, nails clicking as she drummed them against the thin bristle. "You should be proud of yourself Dallon, you've come very far in the past few days."

Dallon shrugged her comment off again, bending below the desk to pick up the yellow marker. He didn't like talking about his mental progress, not when there was so much he wasn't telling Breezy, scared his routines might become more strict.

He never told her about the way he wanted Ryan to kiss him one last time, how he practically begged to be turned undead. Breezy would never know about the way Dallon cried into his pillow at night, quiet enough that nobody heard, soft bawls caught by the scratchy cotton before they could echo through the room. Dallon never spoke about the hole in his chest, the tear in his heart, or how hard it was to swallow down watery food in the cafeteria alone.

Dallon never shared just how much he hated being monitored all the time, how he wanted to reach up and blind the cameras in the hall, to slip out his window and experience the harsh world all over again. But as much as he fantasied about starting a rebellion, like a gang of jailbirds as opposed to a well-behaved mental ward patient, Dallon knew he'd never follow through on his promise.

He was scared of finding Ryan, alone, betrayal in his eyes and a bullet hole through his head. Nobody had ever told Dallon just how resilient the infected were, and the chance that Ryan could be out there, staggering through suburbs and moaning in pain, stung hideously at Dallon's grief.

So Dallon remained caged in the psychiatric ward, where his best taste of freedom was half an hour in the courtyard after lunch, and his best company was a woman he'd grown to hate as much as he hated Ryan.

"...Three. I'm at three." Dallon finally answered, abandoning the desk and reaching for his coat, hand hesitating briefly before he grabbed it. "Could we go outside? It's stuffy in here today."

Breezy nodded, pulling her own jacket over her shoulders and following Dallon out the doors to the courtyard, wind pushing her hair around. It might be sunny out, but that didn't mean the wind outside had died down, streaming in from the tall fence at the other end of the courtyard. Dallon never dared to near the fence, worried he'd become too encompassed with his own dreams of complete freedom once more, and escape.

They took a seat at one of the benches strewn about, cold underneath Dallon's thighs. He shoved away thoughts about the concrete floor back in the storage unit and clasped his hands together, picking at his cuticles before stopping in Breezy's gaze.

If she noticed how conflicted he was today, she didn't show it. In fact, Breezy seemed to be harboring something beneath the teal waters of the lagoon in her eyes, flitting to the ground, then the empty spot on the bench beside her, then the tree just outside the courtyard fence, avoiding Dallon's sturdy gaze.

"Actually Dallon, I'm glad we're out here. There's something I need to tell you, but when I do, I need you to think long and hard about my words before reacting." She reached out and placed a hand over Dallon's, resting on the spot between them on the bench, a reminder of him and Ryan's date at the diner.

Dallon's heart sped at her words, beating faster than it had all week. What did she mean by think long and hard?

If Ryan were here, he'd make a dirty joke. Dallon almost chuckled at it, catching himself before the laugh slipped past his lips, readjusting his gaze and readying himself for whatever Breezy was about to tell him.

"Dallon... Ryan is alive and in the hospital." She spoke slowly, like Dallon was an animal that needed to be trained, eyelids suspended in expectation of Dallon's response.

He was utterly speechless, staring straight ahead at the crack in the stone path, gut seizing at the words like he'd been tased all over again.

Ryan. Alive. Hospital.

Was that stone path always so clear? Dallon could spot every small pebble in it, the speckles of black on the tiny stones, the dust that the wind kicked up in small puffs. It was as if he'd suddenly gained superpowers, vision sharpened, senses heightened. Was this how Spider-Man had felt after he was bitten by the spider?

Dallon was too absorbed in Breezy's words to hear how loud his breaths had gotten, fragmented and drawn out, going lightheaded as he tried to force the realization down his throat. But the only thing that floated through his mind was disbelief, wondering if this was some twisted joke, or another test of some kind.

"Now, Dallon, he was only admitted a few days ago. The doctors need some time to perform some procedures, and..." She trailed off, leaning forward and sighing into the nippy autumn air. Her words dissolved into the atmosphere like wisps of smoke, laying heavy in Dallon's ear, paralyzing him worse than the taser had. "Well, they're trying their best, but... they don't know if anything is going to work. I'm not telling you this to get your hopes up, but you deserve to know."

Breezy's warm hand squeezed Dallon's, dragging her thumb over the hills of skin and bones, hoping to comfort Dallon. She had faith that they'd worked to a point where Dallon could handle the news, and based on the grounding breaths he took, Breezy knew her intuition was correct.

"Can I- Can I see him...?" Dallon finally spoke up, relief almost palpable. Ryan wasn't out there, wandering and scared, thinking he was betrayed by Dallon. He was safe in a hospital bed, with a roof over his head and people who might be able to fix him, the keyword being _might_.

There might be a chance. Dallon might have a third chance at redemption, to save the man he loved. But it might be too late.

Might. The one thing Dallon never had, and now he was burdened with a surplus of it. Ryan might be okay. Ryan might be dead. Ryan might never remember who he was again.

"In a few days, Dallon. He isn't fit to see anyone right now." Uncertainty crossed Breezy's eyes as she spoke, making Dallon's stomach lurch with worry. There was something she wasn't telling him.

"Wh-What's wrong with him?" Dallon asked, tapping his leg restlessly against the bench in nervousness. If there was something Breezy was withholding, it wasn't going to be good news.

"He's... He's unresponsive. The doctors are trying everything they can, believe me, but apparently he's in critical condition. I'm sorry Dallon." Breezy's lips twisted into a benign grimace, pulling in Dallon for a deep hug. His body was rigid, having trouble processing the news, like a broken remote that couldn't communicate with his body.

Eventually, Dallon melted into the hug, resting his head on Breezy's shoulder as she held him close. Her hugs were more delicate than Ryan's, but they'd have to suffice for now, as time ticked at a standstill.

Dallon felt powerless in his own body, suddenly detached from reality, standing a few feet behind his physical form and Breezy. The world seemed to blank out, nothing running through his mind except a tangible grief, and the thick ooze of confusion. This entire ordeal had seemed like a bad dream before, but now it was as distant as a thought, the quiet memories of an alarm clock settling into the back of Dallon's mind.

If only this was a dream, and the simple 'brrring!' of an alarm clock could snap him out of it. But Breezy had to pull away for air eventually, and Dallon was sling-shotted back into his own body, expressionless and empty.

If he'd received the news that Ryan was alive and safe a few days ago, Dallon would've sunk right into a full blown attack, head spinning with thoughts and theories and ways everything could end, good and bad. Now, Dallon didn't know what to feel anymore, like his emotions were a jigsaw puzzle and he was blind. Normally, it would be frustrating, but now it was just... draining.

He just wanted to see Ryan, even if he was draped across an operating table, eyes shut forevermore.

He just wanted Ryan.

**\- RYAN'S INNER DIALOGUE -**

They're taking me away from the man. Make it stop. Make it stop.

I need the man. I don't think I could continue on with my life without him. I don't think I'll ever be anything again without him.

He's the only person out there who knows who I am. Who I used to be. And I can't let these people take me away from him.

It's hopeless. The man is holding me again, like I'm going to leave him. I don't want to leave him. Please don't make me leave him.

The thing in my head is quiet. It's waiting to see what's going to happen. So am I, but I want to fight back. I was the nice man to hold onto me forever, or at least until I remember something else. At least he's holding my hand.

I like holding hands with him. I really like holding hands with him. I think.

The bad people-- the ones who grabbed me and the nice man-- shined something in my face. It's bright. I don't like it. With the nice man, it was always dark and easy on my eyes.

There's more people. The man is holding me tight again, tighter than ever, right up against his chest. If I wasn't so scared, I might've liked it. But I'm scared. I'm really scared.

Without the nice man, I'll be lost again, and I hated being lost. It'll just be me and the thing. And the thing is horrible. All it does is make me do bad things.

Please.

Stop.

No.

They're taking the man away from me. Please.

I need him.

I think I love him. I don't remember what that's like, but I know I do. My heart knows I do, even if it's silent. My brain knows I do. My soul knows I do. But the thing doesn't know that I love him. It's almost as if it's laughing in my face, taunting me as the man is pulled farther away.

I hate you. I hate you so fucking much. But the thing isn't listening to me. It keeps teasing me, telling me that the man is gone forever and that he never loved me.

_Why would he love someone as useless as you?_

_You're useless. You're worthless. You're nothing without me. Be thankful I decided to take over your futile body. You should be thanking me._

_Thank me for creating you. Thank me for saving you from yourself. Thank me._

_I changed you into the perfect creature, and this is how you react? Pathetic. You're just as useless now as you were as a human._

_No wonder they're locking your mouth up. You're dangerous. Yet you can't do anything without me helping you. It's almost as if you're asking for it, asking to be ruled. To be rotted._

I finally shut the thing up. It's found the private spot in my head, the one place where I could think without it invading. And now it's angry, shouting in my ear, like I did something wrong.

I didn't do anything wrong, did I?

But the thing isn't shouting as loud as the nice man is. He interrupted its hostility with his screaming and yelling. And I don't like it.

Why is he screaming?

Is someone hurting the nice man?

I can't let that happen. The nice man gave me everything I have, and I can't let him be hurt. Not when this is all my fault and I can't feel anything.

Is it my fault? I feel like it's my fault in some way. I don't know.

I can't really think anymore. The thing is. The thing is.

Thinking is too hard. It's taking away more of me. And whatever's clamped around my mouth is starting to hurt. A lot.

My eyes are all blurry. I can't tell if I'm crying or not. But the man. Close.

He's close to me. And he's touching my hand. I really like it.

"I love you."

Dallon. He loves me. And I love him back.

My name is Ryan Seaman. I was a drummer and his boyfriend. And we fought the night before I was infected. We used to fight a lot before that, but I always loved Dallon, and I always will.

_He doesn't love you. Nobody can love you. Nobody loves a corpse. I made sure of that._

The nice man's hand clenched around mine, and then his eyes closed.

Please. I want him to come back. I- I don't know who I am.

_You're mine. You're nothing._

_It's your fault they're taking him away. Listen to the way his limp body sounds being dragged on the concrete. Listen to the way his body twitches with electric current. That's all your fault. You're useless. You're a danger to everybody whose ever loved you. Listen to me and you'll be safe. Listen to me._

They're taking the nice man away- they're- they're putting him on a stretcher. Nobody's looking at me anymore. I'm invisible. Maybe that's a good thing.

One of the bad people came over to look at me. She knelt down, and touched my forehead first, and then bleeding end of my empty elbow. Her touch wasn't anything like the nice man's. But it wasn't anything like the bad people's either.

"Oh honey..." She muttered under her breath, eyes catching mine. The thing decided that this would be a good time for me to finally listen, to hear and feel everything that's going on around me. The sirens, the alarms, the chatter and blips of their radios, the heavy footsteps and the click of her tongue.

"You're roughed up, aren't you?" She cocked her head. I like her hair. It's black and frizzy, and sits on top of her head like a crown. I want to tell her that, or at least ask her what's going on. Where the man is going. And where I'm going to go without him.

But I only make a nonsensical noise in return, and the frown on her lips pulls deeper into the lines of her face. All I do is make people sad.

_All you do is disappoint. They wanted someone alive, not you. They wanted someone better, someone who can think for himself, and they got you instead. What a terrible gift._

"Would you like to come with me, or stay here?" The bad-nice woman said. I don't know what to think of her. She wears the same uniform as the bad people-- the people who took the nice man away from me-- but she talks with patience. I need patience right now, something the thing inside my head isn't giving me.

So I nod. I want to go with this nice woman. I think she can help me find the nice man again, and he can remind me who I am. He gives me feelings, even when the thing has taken them all away. And I think that's pretty magical.

Most of the bad people are gone, except for her and another one. They're talking quietly across from me, but I can't hear what they're saying. All I can do is slide down the wall further and groan, trying to get their attention, or at least to block out the noise of the thing.

_Stop bothering them. Pick yourself up and eat them. You're hungry, aren't you? And look how appetizing they look. You deserve something to eat._

The clamp on my face is hurting a lot more now. It's holding onto my skin by a series of metal spikes, impaling my cheeks and chin, thin lines of blood dripping down the sides of my nose. But even after the two nice people pick me up-- one under the shoulders, one under the knees-- and carry me out, they still don't take it off.

They don't take it off in the ambulance, where they're putting more clamps on my arms. Another bright light is shone in my eyes, and someone's putting something pointy in my arm. I was more tired than I'd ever been before, but the thing wouldn't let me sleep. So they pinched my arm again. And again and again and again until the thing gave up, and my burning eyes finally closed.

I'm on a table somewhere. That's all I know. And there's another light in my eyes. And something under my tongue. They took the clamp off my face, but not the ones on my arms.

I don't care. I want to sleep. And I want to see the nice man again.

Everything is hazy and unclear. It had always been unclear, but now, I have no idea what's going on. Wherever I am is very white. And clean. But the snowy walls are the only thing I can see before I'm pinched again, and forced to sleep.

When I sleep, I see nothing. I know I'm not truly sleeping. I'm only closing my eyes to humor whoever's pinching me with these things. That's how I feel them cutting open my chest, and then my head.

I feel like nothing more than an experiment. They're poking at my insides, touching all the spots the thing threatened to eat. Blue masks and precise knives are all I know now. Bright lights and white gowns. The snap of latex gloves and the sound of surgeons whispering to themselves.

And I feel it all. I feel it when they push and pull at my veins. I feel when they try to sort out the mess of my insides, putting them back into place like I'm a human puzzle. A board game.

It's almost as if they're putting more knowledge in my head. I'm remembering more words, but I still can't figure out who I am. Who I was. And my mouth is frozen, unable to ask one of the surgeons where the nice man is. I'm trapped in the prison of my own body, wheeled from room to room as more doctors scramble to decipher where my kidney went. Or my spleen. Or why the lining of my stomach is streaked with blood that isn't mine.

Everything is one long second, stretching on as I'm rushed from room to room. The thing in my head has nothing to say. It sits back and watches everything unfold, thriving off the smell of chemicals and latex. Metal and cloth. Stainless steel and the earthy scent of human insides.

Another cut in my head. This time, they're digging deeper. Even thought my eyes are closed, I can feel them prodding at the inside of my mind, steady hands holding sharp knives. A cut stings at my head, and then another. And another. I guess they didn't bother to numb me up. I mean- who would? I know I'm supposed to be numb, but the thing is making me feel every tiny slice to my body.

It's a punishment of some kind. For not listening to the thing's commands, for letting myself be whipped away by humans and put in this big building with people who know a thing or two about getting rid of bad things in people's heads.

Another cut. This time it's deeper. All I can see is a deep red dancing off my eyelids, forced shut while I'm still conscious. I don't think they know I'm conscious. They think I'm entombed in the walls of a mindless bliss, when in fact, I'm aware of everything they're doing.

Then, someone's hand slipped. I didn't know. But I felt the cut, the one that opened a wound of blood in my mind. The one that let blood seep into the folds of my brain, places it was never meant to go. It started with a dull pain in my forehead, then pain throughout my entire head. Frantic voices and rushed hands. Hurried cuts and a beeping that only grew louder.

I didn't know what was going on. And I still don't.

And now, as time warps around me, I wish I could've been able to tell one of the doctors that I can feel everything.

Because right now, I'm slowly dying again, and I'm sure of it.

I'm grateful when everything goes black,

and I'm even more grateful when my mind goes empty.

**\- END OF PART 5 -**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bro,,,, man, what a chapter. i have nothing to say. so much happened and my brain is so blank rn <3
> 
> of course, let me know what you thought in the comments, and if you have any predictions because i love hearing them and i love hearing you guys and sometimes im not the best at responding but i always try my best :)
> 
> thank you for reading!! expect next chapter sometime next week <3


	6. Part 6 - i hear voices, i see visions (these spirits are your prison)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for hospitals, gore, body horror, horror in general, psychological horror, use of drugs, use of alcohol, vomit, just gross stuff in general, yeah... wow
> 
> there's a lot going on in this chapter. good luck figuring it all out because i sure as hell cant dfghjk
> 
> enjoy!!! <3

**\- DALLON -**

For the next two days, Dallon was completely numb. Not even drawing his childhood heroes could spark something in him, thinking day and night about Ryan, conspiring a way to escape the psychiatric ward and find his boyfriend.

Breezy hadn't been able to say much more about Ryan after their encounter in the courtyard, but there was one thing she said that stuck with Dallon. One sentence that constantly rang through his mind, there to haunt him while falling asleep, or choking down bland hospital food, almost unable to eat again.

"Ryan's going for another surgery this morning." Breezy had explained during one of their private therapy sessions, sitting in her chair in the corner of the room like normal, while Dallon sat on the edge of his bed. Someone had changed his sheets the other day, and now they were a mauve instead of the light blue ones he'd had before, as if a pretty colour was enough to lure Dallon's brain out of the gutter.

"What kind of surgery?" Dallon asked, afraid of whatever response he may get. So far Ryan had had 4 surgeries and counting, and by the end, Dallon was worried he'd be an entirely different person. Some of them Dallon didn't understand, but two stuck out- one on his heart, and one on his brain.

The heart one was supposedly successful, something that let Dallon rest a little easier. But the brain one had been fruitless, and apparently the parasite still living in the folds of his mind, eating away at his brain cells.

"I think it's another cerebral one, if I'm not mistaken. They're... trying something new." Breezy went quiet at the end, looking away from Dallon like she did every time she had to deliver bad news. Dallon didn't have a response to that, staring at the glare of the overhead lights on his shiny shoes, all scuffed up around the edges. He hadn't bothered to put them on properly this morning, heels hanging out over the edge, balancing them on his toes.

Dallon still didn't know why or how Ryan had ended up in the hospital- every conclusion he came to didn't make any sense. Had someone else found him and brought him in? Was it the military? And why did they choose Ryan to try to resurrect out of every dead person out there?

More than anything, he wanted one of the surgeries to work, and for this entire thing to be put in the past. But even if Ryan healed fully and was back to his old self, Dallon knew things weren't going back to normal for a while. They'd probably be living in one of the guarded apartment blocks for a few months, maybe even a year, and even that was wishful thinking. It was nothing more than a pipe dream- Ryan was still dead, for christ's sake. Doctors weren't necromancers, and even if they were, Ryan would never be the same again.

"...How much longer until I can see him?" Dallon spoke up, pushing his hair out of his eyes. It was growing unruly, trailing down the back of his neck and covering his eyes, like a dark curtain. Whenever he thought of how it made him look like a sheepdog, Dallon was only reminded of his idiotic mistake of letting Zero go out into the danger of the undead world.

If Zero was here, Dallon would be able to deal with all of this in a much healthier way. But he was left to watch the yellow clouds pass him by, laying low and thick in the sky, wishing one would drift by close enough to his window for Dallon to grab onto.

"We'll see how the surgery goes and take it one day at a time, okay Dallon?"

Dallon didn't have an answer except for the growl of his stomach. Lunch was on the horizon, not that Dallon was looking forward to it- everything here tasted like mashed potatoes, grey blandness that never filled the pit in Dallon's stomach.

"Hey, I'll check back in after lunch, okay?" Breezy slung her laptop bag over her shoulder, leaving Dallon to put his shoes on properly and sulk to the cafeteria.

One of the walls was made up entirely of window, staring out onto the barren field behind the ward, made up of nothing but combs of yellow grass. It gave the room an inappropriate light, one that was unfitting for a place so gloomy and drab.

Watery lasagna was on the menu today. Layers of pasta and stringy cheese stretched out across a black carton, tomato sauce that was more water than tomato pooling in the bottom, stuffed with all the carbohydrates Dallon needed to keep his body going. It fell apart as soon as his plastic spoon touched it, layers coming undone like a poorly stitched quilt, pasta so tough his flimsy utensil couldn't cut it.

"Can I have a knife?" Dallon asked one of the nurses passing by, but they shook their head, moving onto the next table to inspect. A sigh materialized in Dallon's throat, stabbing the stiff cardboard again and untwisting the web of spindling cheese.

The touch of a hand to his shoulder made Dallon flinch, twisting around to see who wanted his attention.

"Mr. Weekes? I'd like to see you in the hall." A doctor in a snowy coat was standing stoically behind him, an indecipherable expression on her face. Wire-framed glasses were perched on the straight slope of her nose, features pointed like she was sculpted by a murder of crows, talons molding her figure into a tall and lanky raven of a woman.

"What? Why?" Dallon's mind begun to race, filling in what the doctor would say like a improv group hellbent on building up his anxiety.

_'There was a complication in the surgery...'_

_'Ryan is awake and asking about you...'_

_'We're so very sorry Mr. Weekes, but we need someone to sign the death certificate...'_

He abandoned his carpet-pasta and followed Lady Bird out into the hall, wringing his hands in distress and sweating inside his thick hoodie. It was no mystery why someone had given the hoodie away; it was a gross green colour, washed so many times the edges were fuzzy and frayed, stitches unraveling in Dallon's fidgety hands.

"I understand that you are Mr. Seaman's closest relative, is that correct?" She asked, gazing down at him from behind her circular lens. Dallon's imagination morphed her pointed noise into a yellow beak, curving down in a scowl.

Dallon nodded.

"Mr. Seaman has been transferred from the ER unit to intensive care and is cleared for visitors," The doctor over-enunciated every word like her beak got in the way of speaking, a frightening resemblance to that of a plague doctor. "I've talked to Ms. Douglas, and she believes that you're ready to see him. Would you like to see him?"

Dallon nodded again.

Who in their right mind would say no? Even though Dallon knew he wasn't ready to see Ryan, he wanted to. He needed to. The days were growing too long, and Dallon's over-active imagination was only flourishing with each drop of dismay it got its claws on. Seeing Ryan in person would finally erase every horrible image his mind had fabricated over the past eight days, eight days of solitude in a world without Ryan's brightness.

He needed to see Ryan, the same way he needed oxygen.

"Um- is-is he awake?" Dallon could help but ask, pulling at another thread on his sleeve until the cuff unraveled. It was better than picking at his nails; this time, instead of blood on his hands, it was coils of green fuzz.

The doctor sighed, as if Dallon was nuisance— a little kid asking about their pet goldfish— not an adult asking about his hospitalized boyfriend. The type of sigh that made Dallon want to melt into the floor, liquidized skin hiding in the cracks of the tiles, watching people step all over him everyday. Thinking about it, it wouldn't be much different than how Dallon had always lived his life.

"Mr. Seaman is comatose at the moment, Mr. Weekes. A complication during the surgery led to a brain hemorrhage, which has stripped him of his consciousness." She lead him down a yellow hallway and through a set of heavy doors, walls turning a violent shade of sterile white. "We... don't know when he's going to wake up."

Where there should normally be pity or sympathy, there laid no emotion in her voice, as cold and bland as an operating table. The words were icicles in Dallon's heart, but by this point, he wasn't surprised anymore. The world loved to play with Ryan's fate, like it was a ping-pong ball, and Dallon was a stray piece of tape stuck to him.

A piece of tape that should've come off a long, long time ago.

Dallon was too focused on pulling at the loose strings of his hoodie to see where they were going, which was probably a good thing. Based on what he'd seen a week ago, the stretchers lining the halls with sheets over them were most likely inhabited with undead bodies, but all Dallon saw were their wheels and the limp hands that had fallen out from under the sheet.

All belonging to creatures who used to be human. Creatures who used to think their own thoughts, who used to fight the same way him and Ryan had fought, who had hobbies and wishes and choices that shaped who they had been. Creatures who may never be human again.

Just like Ryan.

They stopped outside a door and Dallon finally looked up from his palms, now red and angry from where he'd been scratching nervously. This hall was a long maze of doors just like Ryan's, with names taped to the outside, doctors and nurses darting in and out like ants in an ant farm. An emergency exit sat at the end, and Dallon had half a mind to run out that door as soon as that vulture of a doctor turned around.

Someone tapped him on the shoulder again. Dallon spun around, met with a delicate hug and a purple sweater, blonde waves of hair colliding with his sheepdog mullet.

"Dallon..." Breezy breathed into his shoulder, hugging him tighter, almost as tight as Ryan used to. "Whatever you see in there, remember, live things a day at a time. There's always a tomorrow, and a chance for the sun, no matter how glum things seem."

Dallon didn't know how to answer, pulling Breezy close and breathing her scent into the depths of his lungs. She smelled as lavender as her sweater was, a harrowing reminder of how long it had been since Dallon had smelled real flowers. Or another person, for that matter.

When she pulled away, her eyes were glimmering, a phony smile stuck to her face like a band-aid over a bleeding wound.

Neither said anything. There weren't any words left to be shared, and Dallon believed he was ready to face what was left of Ryan. He was strong now, stronger than he'd ever been.

But when he pushed open the door, all that strength vanished from his ego. Every drop of confidence he'd been harboring had drained, just as the colour drained from his face, and the life drained from his heart.

Ryan looked... pitiful.

His face was a collage of stitches and thick bandages, one taped over the bridge of his nose, so many stuck to him Dallon could barely seen his skin anymore. Based on the skin that Dallon could see, it didn't hold the same stone colour it used to— a huge relief to Dallon's pounding heart. It had regained some of its normal colour, but it still laid thin over the veins in Ryan's arms and face, like the paper of a lantern.

Tubes of varying sizes were strung from machines to Ryan, one shooting up his nose, a ventilator strapped to his mouth. Heavy breathing noises filled the room with every breath Ryan took, chest rising and falling, another huge relief to Dallon. But the sight of the love of his life, laying peacefully in a hospital bed, deep in a slumber he may never wake up from— Dallon couldn't handle that.

Someone had changed him into a gown and cleaned him up, hair shiny, skin untainted by blood. Ryan's eyelids caught the shine of the hospital lights, eyelashes brushing against his cheek bones, rings of purple around them like he'd broken his nose. Then again, Ryan might as well have broken everything in his body. Both of his legs were set in a cast, hugging his fragile body, as snow white as everything was in the room.

This room was much different than Dallon's yellow one. Monitors and wires of all shapes and sizes lined the wall, buttons and switches Dallon didn't understand, medical equipment standing next to Ryan. They were, presumably, the only things keeping him from teetering back into death, heart beeping slowly, but surely.

His heart was beating, and his chest was rising. Those shouldn't be such a miracle to Dallon, whose knees collapsed beneath him as soon as he rushed over to the bed, gripping onto one of the metal arms.

"R-Ryan, it's me," Dallon spoke like the sound of his voice would awaken Ryan from his coma, but his boyfriend was completely unresponsive, all monitors repeating their same rhythms over and over. If Dallon wasn't so focused on listening to Ryan breathe, his brain might've chosen one of those rhythms to mock him to, but thankfully it stayed silent.

"Can- Can he hear me?" Dallon twisted around, met with the resting scowl of the doctor. She nodded without a word, backing out of the room to give them privacy, like a shadow fading into daylight.

Ryan could hear him— but that didn't mean he could understand him. It didn't matter to Dallon; he was going to spill everything he'd ever wanted to say to Ryan in hopes that one of them would be shocking enough to wake him up.

"R-Ry, I love you, so, so much, a-and-" Dallon took a deep breath in before his tears took over, shuffling the imaginary pile of cue cards in his mind, straightening them out. It was an exercise Breezy had taught him for when his mouth would run faster than his brain could, and he'd need to pause, think about what he was going to say, and re-approach the situation.

"...I know that y-you never meant anything you said, and that you just needed someone to- to _listen_ to you for once instead of getting mad. And I'm sorry that I couldn't be that someone for you, when I sh-should have listened to what you were saying instead of what you were doing." As soon as he ended the sentence, all the air left Dallon's lungs in one long sigh, as if the words were finally extinguished from the fire of his restless soul. But Dallon wasn't quite done, not just yet.

"And, I'm sorry I never gave you the- the affection you needed, and that I never told you h-how much I love you. Because I do. I-I really do Ryan, I do..."

That was when Dallon's barricade against the flood of tears broke, and his throat closed up so tight he couldn't utter another word, grabbing Ryan's limp hand and squeezing it. It was lukewarm, a tiny bit of warmth swimming deep inside his hand, coolness clinging to the cells of his skin like ice on dew drops.

Dallon sobbed into the safety of his arms, kneeling by the side of Ryan's bed and shaking, crying until his insides ran dry and there were no more tears left inside him. All Dallon had done since he'd gotten there was cry, and now he was empty, like everything he'd ever needed to say was out in the open.

And in the strangest way, it felt good. Good to let that weight lift from his chest, body going limp as he leaned forward into the bed and let his forehead touch the metal arm. Yeah, it probably wasn't sanitary, but the metal was cool against Dallon's sweltering, tear-streaked face.

He sat there for a while, metal bar pressing into his forehead, listening to the steady rhythm of Ryan's breaths. Dallon hadn't noticed how soothing that sound was, reminding him that Ryan was alive and here, safe within the confines of the hospital.

Dallon couldn't help but let his mind race ahead to what would happen when Ryan woke up, if he ever did. There was a high possibility that Ryan wouldn't remember Dallon, and a higher one that he might not remember anything at all. Even if Ryan returned to consciousness with a blank mind, Dallon vowed to treat it as a blank slate and help Ryan relearn everything he needed to, and to never make the same mistakes he had in the past.

This was Dallon's third chance, and his final one. He wasn't going to mess up this time, not when Ryan needed his help more than ever.

As the day progressed, the sun outside Ryan's window began to dip into the earth, casting orange shadows on the medical equipment. Dallon had sat next to Ryan's bed all day, talking about everything and anything in the world, blabbering on about how sorry he was and how much he regretted kicking Ryan out. The bird doctor didn't return, but other nurses did, checking in on Ryan every few minutes and giving Dallon sideways glances.

Breezy brought Dallon dinner that night, another horribly bland meal from the cafeteria that fell into the bottomless pit of Dallon's stomach. He ate it in silence, watching Ryan's chest rise and fall, reaching out to touch his hand again. It was a comforting gesture to Dallon, rubbing their fingers together and confirming that there was warmth hidden around the frail bones of Ryan's hand, familiar calluses dotting his palm. Most of them were almost completely healed over.

Dallon couldn't remember the last time Ryan had played the drums.

When twilight fell upon the hazy world, Breezy tried convincing Dallon to sleep in his own room for the night, but Dallon refused to. What would happen if Ryan woke up and Dallon wasn't there? What would the doctors tell him? What if he remembered Dallon, but thought that he had left him?

Dallon needed to be there when Ryan woke up. It was something he knew in his heart, written onto the blank pages of his soul like a commandment, a rule, a purpose.

He _needed_ to stay with Ryan, to make sure nothing else happened. Most people hadn't been given second chances, let alone a third, and Dallon didn't have faith he'd be given a fourth if something happened to Ryan. Whoever controlled the fate of the world was generous towards Dallon's carelessness and rash decisions, and it was Dallon's turn to prove that he had changed.

So Dallon slept in the chair in the corner of the room, the same chair that Breezy sat in in his room, and stared at Ryan with bleary eyes all night. The doctors had said no when Dallon asked to lay with Ryan, so sleeping upright was the next best option, keeping close watch on Ryan's closed eyelids in case they fluttered open.

One of the nurses gave Dallon a blanket, but it was too thin to erase the iciness inhabited the empty spot in his heart. The empty spot void of Ryan's smiles, Ryan's eye crinkles and Ryan's laugh; the spot that left a layer of loneliness over Dallon's skin, so alone in a different world it stung. With Ryan by his side he was able to conquer anything, but without him Dallon felt as hopeless as an orphan.

That night was the worst sleep of his life, head snapping up every time he nodded off, determined on watching Ryan all night. But eventually, Dallon had no choice but to let the fangs of slumber sink into his mind, and fell asleep clutching the blanket to his chest. Not even the low glow of the monitors could keep Dallon awake, exhausted and worn out from every extreme emotion he'd gone through in the past day, like he'd been tossed around as easy as a paper in a windstorm.

The next couple days were identical copies of themselves, all blurring together in one gray blob of time. For the first few days, Dallon didn't set foot outside Ryan's room, earning his position as the tearful guy who sat in the corner of the room and never said a word to any of the doctors. Eventually, he left the ICU to wander the hospital, like a ghost unshackled to reality. It wasn't very far-fetched; Dallon's skin had faded to the same colour as Ryan's due to lack of sunlight, bags made a home under his eyes, and Dallon's mind was drifting between reality and fantasies of better days, days full of sunshine, laughter and a healthy Ryan.

He ended up at the nearly-defunct gift shop, with shelves that were picked dry, the worst of the gifts remaining. Ugly stuffed animals, get-well-soon balloons that were half deflated, empty ballpoint pens sitting in dusty mugs, and snow globes whose snow was stuck to the bottom.

Heh, snow globes... it reminded Dallon of Ryan's old collection, the one that still sat on the window ledge in front of their sink at home. At every new place they toured, Ryan would manage to drag Dallon along into the shadiest gift shops in town, the type with neon teeshirts hanging from the front windows. Dallon would moan and complain, dragging his feet along as Ryan inspected each snow globe carefully, ridiculing Ryan for wasting his time on something pointless. But Ryan would wave him off with a dismissive hand, taking his pick of snow globe and packing it away in their suitcase, a sight that made Dallon roll his eyes. Sometimes Ryan would sneak out after a show to buy one, even after Dallon had reprimanded him for spending money he didn't have. Ryan always tried to hide that small glass globe, wrapped in brown paper and tucked away next to their socks, but Dallon had enough experience searching for them that he wasn't even surprised when he'd find the package while getting dressed.

Now, as Dallon took the last one into his trembling hands, holding it earnestly like it was the most expensive jewel in the world- he berated himself for criticizing Ryan into stopping his collection. This stupid little snow globe, with its stupid little snowman and his stupid little top hat, was priceless to Dallon, and he knew it'd be even more priceless to Ryan.

It wasn't just a dinky snow globe, it was an apology. A sorry for being such a wet blanket all those years, for stopping Ryan from doing things that made him happy, even if Dallon couldn't see the worth in them. And Dallon needed to step back and look at the big picture every once in a while, because now, he didn't care one bit about the money Ryan had wasted months ago.

Ryan happiness was worth more than any amount of money spent on useless things.

Dallon turned to the cashier with the snow globe in hand, cold against his palms. Nobody had told him where his belongings had ended up after he was taken from the storage facility, which included his backpack and his wallet.

"Just take it, man." The cashier deadpanned, going back to scrolling on their phone. They wore a dead expression, a shocking resemblance to Ryan's, the reflection of their screen on their glassy eyes.

"...Are you sure?" It was the first words Dallon had spoken to someone other than Ryan, and he was surprised by his own voice, tiny and shy instead of the strong tone it used to carry.

The cashier shrugged, eyes stuck to the screen in their hand, zero emotion behind them. "Who cares anymore? Take whatever you want."

With an uncertain grimace on his lips, Dallon slipped the snow globe into the big pocket of his oversized sweater. This one had some college on it, an obscure one from out of state, with a yellow lion as their logo and a navy background.

The hospital room was easy enough to find- it had Ryan's name taped to the door, along with the fact that it was open and a familiar nurse was coming out of it. Dallon didn't bother to slather on a fake smile, nudging past her and over to Ryan, taking his cold hand into his own and stroking his thumb over Ryan's knuckles. There was significantly less meat over his bones, hand laying fragile and frail like his skeleton was glass, blood still hiding in the cracks of his fingernails.

With a shuttered sigh, Dallon took the snow globe out and placed it on the windowsill, a few of the tiny snow particles kicking up from the movement. The rest stuck glued to the bottom, refusing to budge from where they'd melted into the plastic, surrounding the goofy snowman and his button eyes.

The snow globe caught the dimmed light from outside, fragments of the sun hiding in the layers of glass, a gleam reflected onto the floor next to Ryan's bed. Dallon dropped Ryan's hand and sunk into the chair, as if he was admitting defeat for whatever game this was, bones tired beyond their years.

Life wasn't fair; everybody knew that. Yet it seemed it was especially unfair to Ryan, choosing him to dump all its misfortune on and leaving Dallon to pick up the remnants. And Dallon was exhausted by whatever morbid rollercoaster they'd boarded at the beginning, ready to get off and put the entire ride behind him.

But Ryan was stuck in his seat, knocked unconscious by the highs and lows of the ride, and Dallon couldn't leave him. So he sat there, in that chair with its green cushions and wooden legs, and let himself become one with the hospital scenery, only ever talking to Breezy or Ryan.

Doctors came and went, all bearing nothing but uncertain news of when Ryan would wake up, if he ever did. Hope shriveled up and died off in Dallon's mind piece by piece, like a flower that was slowly losing its petals, that hollow spot in his heart growing wider and deeper.

Then there was the day Dallon was allowed to go home and get some of his belongings. _'Only the essentials,'_ they said, but Dallon couldn't think about anything but all the gifts he'd bring Ryan from their house. Day by day, Dallon was growing more and more delusional, dreaming of all the things him and Ryan could do once he woke up. The fact that Ryan might never wake up had been banished from Dallon's mind, nothing but an insane statement, like a nightmare that lurked in the distance.

When Dallon arrived at his house with the two soldiers on his side, dressed in padded vests and camouflage tracksuits, tears pricked at his eyes. Nothing had changed much while he'd been gone, but the sight was disheartening, the place him and Ryan used to call home.

Inside, things were cold and dusty, everything left exactly the way Dallon had left. Zero's dog bed sat untouched in the corner of the kitchen, the coffee pot Ryan had put on for himself the last morning they were together still held the brown beverage, and their dinner plates laid on the table, now blanketed in mold. Seeing the house was eerie, time at a standstill like their lives had been frozen in that specific moment before everything went to shit. The remnants of their ordinary lives were daggers in Dallon's heart, a reminder of what life used to be like, when Dallon's biggest priority was fixing Ryan's carelessness.

It shouldn't have ended up like this. Him and Ryan should've eaten that dinner together, should've gone to bed next to each other that night, should've fought against the virus side by side. But here Dallon was, searching the house for anything and everything that reminded him of Ryan, sweeping it into his bag and ignoring the clatter of his heart falling to his feet.

Framed photos. Ryan's favourite movies. CDs. The fancy pair of drumsticks Dallon was saving for his birthday. The cookie jar Ryan had laughed at for five minutes at the thrift store. Ryan's phone. Earbuds. Ryan's most worn shirts. His old hoodie. His second pair of shoes. Anything Ryan had touched twice was worthy to bring by Dallon's standards, dashing up and down the stairs as more things came to mind. Perhaps if Dallon held the objects close enough, he could feel the old Ryan's presence through them, all the times his coarse hands had brushed against them.

Only at the end did Dallon pack his own clothes, a sour taste hiding in the back of his throat as he stared at the unmade bed, where Ryan had laid his head three weeks ago. The wrinkled pillow made its way into Dallon's bag, along with Ryan's comb, blue hairs woven around the picks.

Everything that Ryan had touched the last time he was living needed to come with Dallon. It was this compulsive need that thrived inside the cage of Dallon's punctured heart, an unhealthy coping mechanism that Breezy would frown down upon, but Dallon couldn't care any less. He _needed_ this proof that Ryan had been alive once, because right now, their life before the virus seemed like nothing but a dream.

When Dallon got back to Ryan's room, he was greeted with the same news he'd been hearing for the past week, some rehearsed script about how Ryan was on the track to getting better but they were still unsure of his survival. Dallon knew it was all a ruse to keep his spirits up, a dialogue they'd been taught to recite whenever they saw grief in a patient's eyes, a way to avoid a lawsuit. But Dallon only murmured a hello to Ryan, took his seat, and unpacked all the goods he'd brought, adding them to the growing collection on the ledge of the window. Nobody had ever said that Dallon couldn't leave gifts in Ryan's room, so Dallon went along and placed the knickknacks he's collected from their home all around the room. He put on Ryan's favourite hoodie and let himself melt into the fuzz, the scent of Ryan's cologne hanging in the loose threads, something that soothed and frustrated Dallon at the same time.

Dallon just wanted Ryan to wake up. He didn't even care about his memory at this point— anything would do. All Dallon was asking for was for those glossy eyelids to flutter open, for Ryan to move on his own, for Ryan to speak, even if it was asking Dallon who he was.

Anything would suffice, as long as it was Ryan.

Dallon could put on Ryan's hoodies, could plug his earbuds into his phone and find Ryan's playlist, could listen to the music and pretend everything was going to be okay— but nothing erased the missing patch in the quilt of Dallon's life. Not even watching old concerts helped, the way all animosity seemed to disappear once they were on stage, when fights and faults were all forgiven; it couldn't cure Dallon's excruciating loneliness in a world that wasn't fit for humans anymore, the type that gnawed at his empty stomach after he'd already forced food down. Nothing would cure it until Ryan was here again, brightening the room with his giant smile and short giggles.

The day Dallon's parents came to visit was by far the worst out of all of them. Dallon hadn't known what had happened to them, so the familiar sight of their faces, streaked with worry and trauma— it helped soothe the pain a little, pulling them into a big hug and refusing to let go.

"Mom, dad..." Dallon whispered, feeling as small as a six year old again. "W-What happened? Were you okay?"

Dallon's mom nodded solemnly, a forced smile on her trembling lips. "We found a military camp as soon as we saw the news, and we've been staying there for the past few weeks. Your father had a close run-in with one, but we're as healthy as can be now..."

"How's Ryan?" His father piped up, turning to face Ryan's stationary body, covered by layers of blankets. All three of them were standing at the end of his bed, watching monitors beep away with information Dallon had grown to understand over the week.

Dallon's parents had always had a great relationship with Ryan. Even while him and Dallon weren't married, Dallon knew they saw him as their son-in-law, another member of the family. Based on the lack of messages on Ryan's phone, his parents hadn't bothered to contact him once, unaware that their only son was in a coma.

"He's... here." It was the only thing Dallon could say about Ryan, a harsh storm of tears twisting inside him, threatening to fall. He didn't _want_ to cry anymore, but it wasn't like he had a choice, broken sobs escaping him as his parents pulled him close again. Any sense of strength Dallon had been holding onto drowned in his tears days ago, letting his body crumble in his parents' embrace as weeps echoed through the otherwise empty room.

Ryan wasn't really here. His body might be, but his mind was far gone, maybe even further than it had when he was awake and staggering around.

Dallon's parents stuck around for a few hours, making idle conversation with Dallon. But everyone's eyes kept drifting to Ryan, room going silent except for the sound of his ventilator, the same thought on all their minds.

Will he ever wake up?

Eventually, as normal visiting hours ended, Dallon had to say goodbye and return to the safety of his chair. As he was finishing up dinner— breaded chicken and stringy green beans— one of the nighttime nurses entered the room, a genuinely kind smile on her face.

"Good afternoon Dallon," She said, thick accent ringing in Dallon's eardrums. Her skin, the colour of rich soil, seemed to glow in the hospital lights, like she was nothing but a magical figment of Dallon's imagination. It seemed that way, seeing as she was the only nurse who truly paid attention to him, and more importantly, the only nurse who talked to Ryan like he was a real person.

"And good afternoon Ryan, how are you feeling today?" She asked, putting her braids up into a bun. Some days she'd stick barrettes into them, little hair clips that had charms on the end of bright things, like tiny fruits and sunshines.

A couple of days ago, after three days of complete silence, Dallon had worked up the courage to ask her where she got them. When she arrived with a pack for him the next day— little black clips with music notes on the end— Dallon's heart skipped a beat, accepting them graciously. That day, Dallon sat next to Ryan and gingerly brushed his hair, pinning it out of his face with the barrette and admiring how much healthier he looked without hair in his eyes.

While Ryan could never answer the nurse's small talk, Dallon liked to think that he could hear them and was appreciative that someone other than Dallon was finally talking to him.

'...He hasn't moved yet," Dallon answered quietly, still holding out hope that one of these days he'd be granted with the flutter of an eyelid or the flare of his nostrils. "But I think he's doing okay."

"Well, you'd know best Dallon." She answered with a smile, taking the IV out of Ryan's hand. One had been taped onto Ryan ever since Dallon had seen him, and every once in a while a nurse would come in and change it, replacing the needle into the back of Ryan's hand.

"Do you- Do you think he'll ever wake up?" Dallon swallowed back the lump in his throat, averting his eyes from the needle piercing Ryan's hand. Ever since he was a kid, Dallon had hated needles and couldn't stand the sight of them, especially when they were going into a spot as delicate as a hand.

The nurse paused what she was doing for a moment, shooting Dallon a pensive glance. Pity didn't lay behind it, a refreshing sight to Dallon. All he'd been receiving since he'd arrived was pity, looks with eyebrows drawn together and mouths twisted into a sorry frown, and he was sick of it. Pity didn't fix the hole in his heart. Pity didn't fix Ryan.

"I have faith he will. The patients given the most love always wake up." She declared, placing Ryan's hand down and pulling the blankets further up over him. If he wasn't in a coma, Dallon would've thought he looked cozy, head cushioned by a mountain of pillows, swaddled by thick hospital blankets and crisp sheets.

It was a response Dallon had never gotten before, stunning him into silence. He sat back in the chair and let the words wash over him, a tiny spark of hope igniting in the darkness of his chest at the nurse's words, baffled that there actually could be a chance.

This might not be the end. And if Ryan could be cured with Dallon's love, then he was sure to wake up someday soon.

Dallon liked that thought. He liked it a lot. It put some of the power over Ryan's fate back in Dallon's hands, and after weeks of being helpless over his own existence, the small gleam of hope was exhilarating.

"By the way—" The nurse said, shifting Ryan's limp body to the side in bed. He now laid facing Dallon, rough stubble marking his chin in a forest of grey and brown. Dallon had always loved the hungover mornings that followed a rough night when Dallon would watch him shave in their bathroom, when his face would grow scruffy and the shadows on his jaw would deepen. Sure, shaving was accompanied by obscene curses muttered under his breath whenever he'd nick himself, but symphony of swears only made Dallon fall further in love.

"—I can see where Ryan gets his nose from." The nurse finished her sentence with a gentle pat to Ryan's shoulder, smoothing down the wrinkles in his hospital gown.

"Those weren't his parents..." Dallon mumbled, chest caving in on itself as he realized what that truly meant. Ryan's parents hadn't bothered to shown up— they hadn't even bothered to text him, unless something had happened to them. But Dallon had the feeling that they were just fine.

They had never paid Ryan much attention, and him falling into a coma wasn't going to change their cold ways.

The nurse went silent, gazing wistfully at Ryan before tucking the blanket around his shoulders and ducking her head down, refusing to meet Dallon's gaze. She couldn't have known the weight of her words, a weight that displaced Dallon's balance as he stood and sat next to Ryan.

Watching Ryan sleep was therapeutic in the oddest way, calming on Dallon's tense nerves. His chest inflated and deflated at a steady rate, safe and snug inside his layers of blankets, bandages wrapped around the remaining stub of his arm.

Dallon brushed his fingers over Ryan's intact arm, a sigh escaping the depths of his lungs. It shouldn't have ended like this— Dallon should be stroking Ryan's arm at home after a night of partying, sighing and wondering if Ryan would ever grow out of his partying stage. Not in a hospital, wondering if Ryan would ever wake up to party again.

Ryan's skin was covered in healed bumps, leftover stitches lining his arm in white scars that would never fully heal. Dallon let his fingertips linger on them like he was draining the pain from them, taking the venom from out of Ryan and suppressing it in himself, wishing he could take all of Ryan's misfortune and carry it on his shoulders. After all, this was Dallon's fault, and he was sick of making Ryan pay for his mistakes.

Dallon's hand continued down Ryan's arm, rubbing his wrist and moving the hospital bracelet further up. Ryan's fingers were motionless as Dallon wove their hands together, palms pressed against each other in a collision of warm and cold, something deep brewing inside Dallon. Something deeper than he'd ever felt. And it rooted in his heart, tendrils wrapped around his lungs that squeezed harder with every second that Dallon stared at the web of Ryan's eyelashes.

It was a wave of emotions, building up higher and stronger with every moment that passed in silence, foaming at the tip. It persuaded Dallon to lean in close to Ryan, studying the folds of his eyelids as if every word Ryan couldn't say was written on them. There was something so... delicate and precious about the way Ryan slept, like a glass doll preserved in a cushioned case, frozen at one point in time forever.

Dallon knew it was wrong to be admiring Ryan this way, especially when he was in a coma. But adrenaline was still pumping through Dallon's veins, mind stuck in a delirium where the world was upside down and turned on its side. And nothing mattered anymore, nothing at all;

Except kissing Ryan.

It would be preferable to kiss Ryan's lips, but they were covered by the ventilator, tubes attached to plastic that helped him breathe. After kissing Ryan, Dallon was going to need a ventilator too— his breath hitched in his lungs as their faces neared, a look so blank and peaceful on Ryan's face, Dallon's heart couldn't help but melt a bit. There had never been a time when Ryan slept soundly— creases had always marked his face while he slept, nose scrunched up, eyebrows drawn together like he was deep in thought. But now, as Ryan slept like a baby, Dallon couldn't help but be a bit... grateful for the coma.

Not in that way. But after everything that had happened, perhaps a coma was the best answer for Ryan. In a coma, he couldn't harm himself or anyone else, body suspended into somnolence. It was an interlude in the harsh reality Dallon had seen and experienced, and he couldn't help but be thankful.

There were much worse places Ryan could be than in the hospital. And if Breezy was right and every cloud had a silver lining, then Dallon could at least be thankful for that.

Maybe this was wrong. Maybe the doctors would rush in and scold Dallon as soon as his lips touched Ryan, whipping him away to make sure he wasn't infected too. But Dallon had never felt so right, so sure in his actions that in his mind, he had already kissed Ryan.

He was going to kiss Ryan, let it be the last thing he ever did.

With a certain gracefulness, Dallon bent down and softly pushed his lips against Ryan's head, ignoring how cold his skin was. His grip on Ryan's hand tightened as his lips lingered for a second before pulling away, a small smile tugging on the corners of his mouth— the first time he'd smiled since getting here.

"I love you." Dallon announced to whomever might be there to hear it. It might not be Ryan, but that didn't matter. As long as the universe knew how much Dallon truly loved Ryan, they'd earn the happy ending they deserved. And if that nurse was right and love could cure a coma, then Ryan was bound to wake up any day now.

Because Dallon had never been more in love.

As Dallon was sitting back on the edge of the bed, smiling quietly to himself, something suddenly dragged against his own fingers. And then something was tapping. And digging into Dallon's skin. Hard.

_Ryan._

Ryan's hand had twitched, pressing the nail of his thumb into the webbing of Dallon's hand so hard it was beginning to hurt. The movement was so small that if Dallon wasn't holding onto Ryan, he would've never seen it.

But it happened. Ryan had moved. _Ryan had heard him._

A surprised whimper escaped Dallon before he could stop it, a sound of raw happiness that erupted from the bubbling sunshine in his chest.

Ryan moved. That meant...

_Dallon's love had cured him._

Perhaps Dallon was getting ahead of himself. Deep down, past the mask of ignorance he was wearing to protect himself from the truth, Dallon knew that sometimes people moved in comas. It was as plain and simple as that, nothing more that a sleep movement fabricated by Ryan's barely functioning brain.

But to Dallon, _it was so much more than that._ It was an answer to his declaration of love, the first one he'd ever received since the virus broke out. It was a confirmation that Ryan wasn't suspended into darkness forever, that his mind still held some meaning. And every issue in their relationship was infinitesimal compared to this, a small gesture that meant the world to Dallon.

And Dallon was overjoyed.

"He- He moved!" Dallon cried to the doctor who entered the room, blinking back the happy tears that welled in his eyes. The doctor only gave him a polite smile in return— after all, someone moving in a coma _shouldn't_ be such a big deal. Even dead people could move, according to the revoltingly horrid situation outside. And if anybody knew that the undead could still dig their nails into you, Dallon knew best. Hell, he'd been in love with one— and it was still debatable whether Ryan was alive or not.

A sharp gasp broke the silence of the room, followed by the most petrified scream Dallon had ever heard. Dallon spun around just in time to see Ryan's frantic eyes dart around the room, bloodshot and overflowing with tears, open so wide you could see the white around his irises. The sight made Dallon's heart wrench, twisting so horrible he might as well have sprained it.

"Ryan?" Dallon exclaimed, bewildered by Ryan's sudden movements. But as soon as their eyes met, both smudged with surprised tears, another scream ricocheted off the bleached walls of the room. It struck Dallon in the chest like a bolt of lightning, astonished by the fact that Ryan had awoken, but horrified by his reaction to Dallon.

Did he not recognize Dallon anymore? What if he didn't remember anything? Dallon thought he was ready to face Ryan no matter the circumstances, but now, his assurance in his bravery was decaying as quickly as a zombie.

Dallon was quickly swarmed by a mob of distressed doctors and nurses, medical code yelled out over him. In the panic of the situation, Dallon reached out for Ryan's hand, but Ryan recoiled and stared at Dallon like _he_ was the monster.

They were separated by a wall of white coats, shoving Dallon back against the chair to tend to Ryan's rising heart rate and confused mumbles. A tiny cry was the only thing Dallon could choke out, pulling his hand to his chest and picking at his cuticles until he'd dug a red trench around his fingernails. Every fragment of mental stability he'd been building up for the past few weeks was lost to the swell of doubt in his chest, gathering up higher and bigger, the polar opposite of the tsunami of love he had just felt for Ryan. No, this was entirely different, a hole that only dug itself deeper with every passing second, jabbing Dallon in between his ribs and leaving him breathless.

Ryan didn't remember him. And worse, Ryan was _scared_ of him. Like Dallon was the one who had eaten humans. Like Dallon hadn't lost his mind over Ryan, like he hadn't been there for every possible second he could be. Like Dallon hadn't tried his damned hardest to help Ryan, to bring back the fire of his personality from an empty husk of a human.

No, Ryan didn't remember any of that. And Dallon was stuck in the corner of the room, watching the doctors silence Ryan's cries with another needle, sedating him into submissiveness. Ryan's breaths slowed immediately, leaning back into the pillow and observing everything the doctors were doing to him with droopy eyes, whimpering softly as he was strapped to the bed.

That obsessive need to protect Ryan was seething inside Dallon, trying his hardest to slip through the circle of doctors and grab Ryan's hand. But they continued to push Dallon out, reciting Ryan's vitals back and forth as the repetitive beeping of the machines loitered. Dallon couldn't understand any of it, leaving him hopelessly lost as he watched Ryan be pacified by the medicine.

Dallon could only hope he was seeing pretty things, like fields of flowers and the landscape of summer, not anything horrible. It was obvious Ryan was anesthetized, softly humming under his breath as the doctors replaced his ventilator with an oxygen mask, fastening it over his nose. In the rush of the moment Ryan had ripped off his ventilator, face now covered by blue plastic that quickly fogged up.

"He's crashing, we need to get him to an OR." One of the doctors called out above the rest, finally speaking a language Dallon could understand. Medical equipment was quickly detached from Ryan, and then he was wheeled out of the room, leaving Dallon with nothing but memory of his unsteady whines.

Ryan was gone again. Dallon's knees had given up, falling to the floor in a puddle of misery and tears, seething through his teeth at the gaping hole in his chest. He'd never been so angry, so confused, so utterly... alone. And it took a toll on his body, hunched over on the hospital floor, crying quietly to himself as everything collapsed around him.

Fuck. Everything. Giving up had never been so appealing, except this stupid hospital with its stupid doctors and stupid therapists wouldn't let him die off like an sunburnt houseplant. All of Dallon's leaves were dry and crisp, ready to fall off with the slightest movement, and this was the last straw. Ryan might as well have trampled over Dallon's heart, picking off his leaves one by one and watching them crumble in his fist.

Every lie Dallon had been telling himself for protection— the web of deceit he'd been safe in— was unraveling, leaving him bare and exposed to every ugly truth. Ryan didn't remember him. And even though Ryan had woken from his coma, his health was still hanging onto its life by a bare thread, ready to snap at any moment.

As much as Dallon didn't want to accept it, maybe it was better to acknowledge that life might be lonely for a little while. Maybe even forever. And the sooner those words sunk in, the sooner Dallon could pick himself up off the linoleum tiles and continue on with life.

Because even if time had halted for Ryan forever, Dallon still had to go on with himself.

Right?

**\- RYAN -**

**\- 1 -**

There was a baby crying.

Ryan didn't know where it was. Ryan didn't even know where he was— it seemed just seconds ago his life was suspended into darkness, plunging into the empty realm of the afterlife. But the sirens and whistles of medical machinery no longer rang out in his head, replaced with the wails of an unattended child.

Why was nobody comforting that baby?

Actually, Ryan knew where he was. He knew exactly where he was. Because this was the place where his hopes and dreams had been squashed, where he'd sat through hours of relentless scolding with no end in sight. This place was his best friend and his enemy, a prison of nightmares and a palace of serenity, the blurred line between stress and peace hanging heavy in the air.

This was Ryan's childhood home. He could explore this place in his sleep, which was useful right now, considering Ryan felt like his head was six feet underwater.

Every sight around him was blurry, images twisted and distorted into horrifyingly unidentifiable things. While Ryan knew he was walking through his childhood home, he didn't know where he was going, or what he was looking at. Every time his eyes would finally focus on an object, it would morph itself into something Ryan couldn't recognize, turning lampshades into pink blobs and tables into yellow squares. And as much as he wanted to reach out and feel the objects, to confirm that they were real and not just shapes dotting his eyes, Ryan's arms were glued to his side, refusing the budge from his torso.

As he dove deeper into the house, walking through rooms he'd seen in a past life like his body was on a schedule, that fuzzy disorientation in Ryan's mind grew, toppling his world upside down. Wherever he was wasn't earth, thrown into the space between dimensions where the strangest of entities lived, carried from room to room like his body wasn't his own anymore. This body wasn't his own— Ryan couldn't feel the body that was parading through his house, numbed by an invisible force, eyes propped open so he could witness every indistinguishable monstrosity that sat throughout the place he'd one called home.

The furniture had come to life, frizzy and glowing around the edges, composed of nothing but static images mushed together into one. Colours had lost all meaning as Ryan was brought into another room, devoid of the crying baby, useless shapes floating past his head in colours the human mind could never fabricate.

Was this heaven? Or hell?

Even if Ryan couldn't feel the body taking him from room to room, he could still think for himself. And there was nothing on his mind except finding that baby and getting the hell out of here, escaping this hellish madhouse that had once been his safety from the outside world. This wasn't a baby crying for attention, no, it was a baby crying for protection. Crying out of fear, each scream bleeding with pleads for someone to save it from whatever monster was terrorizing it, a wail so desperate and helpless Ryan couldn't help but feel compelled to soothe it. But the body was stuck on a rigid schedule, rooms slowly descending into a deeper level of hell with every step the body took, patterns of human eyes and optical illusions lining the walls.

Everything in that house had eyes. Everything was watching him pass from room to room, so impossibly deep in this house he wasn't even sure if it was a house anymore, or a plane of existence. And everything in that house was human, couches lined with fuzzy flesh and veins strung across chandeliers. Maybe it wasn't a baby that was crying, but the house itself, petrified screeches oozing out of every crack in the floor.

This house brought the words 'living room' to an entirely different level— Ryan could feel the house breathe beneath him, creaking and groaning with every step the body took for him, entering what seemed to be the final room.

In the corner sat a dark figure, dressed in robes of shadows, shrouded in a thick blanket of darkness. Ryan felt a connection to the figure, a gravity that pulled his soul to it, but the body he was trapped in was rooted to the ground like it too was a part of the house.

Two humans sat at a table made of hands, stacked over each other with the fingers laced together, all different shapes and sides. In a blurry part of Ryan's mind— a part that was being held from him, a wall between his consciousness and that set of memories— he recognized these humans, even though they had no faces.

That wasn't right. How could Ryan know them if they were faceless, a smooth slab of skin pulled over every defining feature, leaving them with nothing but a blank ball of flesh for a head?

"Ryan, why did I receive another note from the school today?" One of the humans said, voice gliding through the body's ears and into Ryan's mind. It had a feminine ring to it, but even then it was muffled by the cotton filter in Ryan's mind, a tone too flawless to be human. Whoever had created it wasn't human, and didn't know what humans sounded like.

Ryan tried to open his mouth, but his lips were sewn together, a mouthful of sticky glue fastening his tongue to his palate, chaining his teeth together. Whoever had created the body he was using didn't know what humans looked like, basing him off of every tale of humanity it had ever been given. No wonder he couldn't feel anything— his nerves were wired the wrong way, body built for nothing but transportation.

"This was the fourth one this month. Mrs. Bruce says that if you disrupt class one more time, you'll be suspended for a week." The other human spoke, arms crossed behind his back. This tone was made to be masculine, but it was too soft around the edges to be classifiable as a man's, lingering somewhere between harsh and pleasant. "Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

The glue dissipated from Ryan's makeshift mouth, leaving him to gawk at the sights in front of him, speechless. Nothing in the world made sense, not the table and chairs made of limbs, not the portraits of humans Ryan had seen in a past life lining the walls, and especially not the two people who were addressing him like parents.

These weren't his parents— but Ryan didn't know if he could remember what his real parents looked like. Maybe that was why these two figures had no faces, a blank spot in Ryan's memory where their appearances should normally be. But not even now, as he was addressed directly, could Ryan focus on what the rest of their bodies looked like, a thick mask of disorientation pulled over his mind.

"I- I-" Ryan finally found his voice, but it wasn't his own. Where Ryan's voice was usually deep and rich in tone, this one was small and puny, almost as if he'd aged back fifteen years.

The baby cried louder in Ryan's ears, surrounding him from every angle as he struggled to piece together a sentence, mind darting from one thought to the next so fast he couldn't keep up.

"Who are you?" A full sentence finally materialized in Ryan's mouth, but oh, how he wished he'd never spoken. As soon as the words left his lips, the two figures' bodies crumpled over, dropping dead instantly. Ryan was left to watch the horror unfold in front of him, a puddle of blood marking where they'd fallen over each other, limbs twisted in unnatural positions. The baby's cries stopped sharply in its tracks, a silence so thick hanging over the living house it buzzed in Ryan's ear like an angry swarm of flies.

No, _no._ Ryan didn't know who those two figures had been, but he knew he shouldn't have killed them. There was some subconscious part of him that was howling with grief, mourning the sudden death of the two faceless humans. But nothing laid at the front of Ryan's mind except that vague confusion, world tossed into obscurity by his own brain.

The shadow in the corner stood silently, striding over to Ryan on nimble, lanky legs. Legs Ryan had seen somewhere before, but he didn't know where. He didn't know anything, except that he'd killed the memory of his parents with his words alone. Words that should've been harmless, but instead, made them drop dead like they were nothing but corpses being held up by strings.

Puppets, perhaps. Two rotting bodies pioneered to look alive, two dolls positioned for Ryan to find, two humans who were reminiscent of his parents. Two humans who had never been alive, and never will.

The dark figure stopped in front of Ryan, appearance suddenly coming into light. It was a good five feet taller than him, dressed in a blood-red suit with a rotted flower tucked beneath the fold of the lapel, a smell so hideously putrid coming off of it Ryan couldn't bear to stand in its presence. The skull of a bull sat on its neck, staring down its sharp snout at Ryan with beady human eyes that resembled little beetles, two broad, brown horns curving out from its temples.

Ryan knew he'd seen this creature somewhere before, but he couldn't place his finger on where. Everything in this alternate reality was like that, a faint reminder of a place that used to be in Ryan's memory, but was nothing but a twisted distortion of reality now.

The creature chuckled, a sound so horribly sinister Ryan's insides squirmed with discomfort.

" _Ryan_." It spoke like his name was a curse, and by saying it, he'd instantly fall dead like the puppets of his parents had. It's voice wasn't the slightest bit human- or perhaps it was too human for Ryan to hear. Every voice he'd ever heard in his life was stacked on top of each other, layered into a singular tone that was so familiar yet so utterly inhuman his mind couldn't make sense of it. Somewhere in those thousands of voices was Dallon's.

_Dallon._ Ryan needed Dallon. The last time he'd spoken to Dallon their words had been harsh, and then he'd stormed out of the house, and then... nothing. That was the last thing Ryan could recall, a blank spot in his memory of whatever had happened between then, and now.

Fucking hell. He wanted to know what had lead to him being here. He _needed_ to know. Because otherwise, Ryan may never escape this prison of nightmares where the furniture watched him like security cameras.

"Look what you've done to them." The thing said, somehow speaking while its snout remained motionless. "How could you be so calloused? Did you not love your parents?"

Did he not love his parents? What type of question was that? Of course Ryan loved his parents- didn't he? But these two puppets weren't his parents at all. Even if Ryan couldn't remember what his actual parents looked like, he knew these corpses were disposable, nothing more than toys to torture Ryan's guilt with.

"I didn't mean to." Ryan's voice was still tiny, hiding away in his throat when he tried to speak up louder. "I didn't mean to hurt them."

"Now, that doesn't matter in the end, does it?" The bull-skull's combination of voices was haunting, resounding through Ryan's mind like they were all on a delay. The last voice to speak the line was female, the ends of her words curling around the ends like she was singing them into Ryan's ear. Like a siren, enchanting him into believing whatever twisted reality this was.

He didn't like it.

"It doesn't truly matter if you didn't mean to, because they're dead now." The bull-skull stated plainly in an accusatory tone. It made Ryan cower away, craning his neck to stare up at the monstrous figure and its daunting height. It's little beetle eyes didn't blink, staring back down at Ryan silently and waiting for whatever response he could muster.

When Ryan didn't respond, the creature held up a hand, revealing a human eye on its palm. The eye blinked, taking in Ryan's invisible appearance before darting around the room.

A sick feeling spread through Ryan's gut, suddenly aware of his body beneath him. It wasn't his body at all, but he could feel the nausea creeping up through the back of his throat, swallowing down a mouthful of stomach acid and wincing at the disgusting taste it left on his tongue.

He couldn't stand it here anymore. He couldn't stand the eye on the palm of the creature, he couldn't stand the creature's smell, and he couldn't stand the two corpses that laid on the floor of the kitchen, bodies pale and lifeless.

This was literal hell, Ryan was sure of it. The absurdity of the entire situation gave him a migraine, sinking to his knees in front of the creature and letting his head connect with the ground. A loud crack rang through his skull, before darkness was the only thing Ryan knew, swimming through a cavity in his mind.

**\- 2 -**

The next time Ryan woke up, no babies were crying. He was back in his own body, wearing his favourite leather jacket and holding a beer, standing in the middle of someone's living room. The typical scene of a part surrounded him— people drinking and laughing, a game of pool being played in the corner while loud music overtook every conversation. A glance to Ryan's hands revealed that he was very much alive, skin peachy and red in the dim lights of the party.

In the corner sat the creature again, watching him silently as Ryan took a sip of beer. Hm, still tasted the same. The memory of the past nightmare had been erased, nothing running through Ryan's mind except having fun and getting drunk.

Who cared if he was trapped in his own brain for the rest of eternity? Ryan was at a party, and if there was anything he remembered, it was how to get so shitfaced he'd forget his own name. And right now, as unfortunate memories of wailing babies and blank-faced corpses were resurfacing, Ryan wanted nothing more than to drink away his remembrance until the sun came and went.

So Ryan went off, introducing himself to people he'd seen in a past life and accepting another bottle of beer once his was empty. It was hard for his mind to remain in the moment, floating on the cusp of consciousness as he descended into drunkenness, chatting it up with people who seemed to disappear as soon as he turned away.

That bull-faced creature sat in corner stoically, watching Ryan's every move as he stumbled around the room. There was a door that sat at the other end of the square room, but it had remained closed the entire time.

Ryan was getting tired of this one room and its green carpet. The people playing pool had disappeared, along with most of the people Ryan had made idle conversation with, leaving two people left in the room with him as Ryan chugged the last of his drink.

This party fuckin' sucked at this point. Ryan, desperate to empty his mind once again, staggered over to the door on unsteady legs and swung it open, met with an identical room full of different people.

Eh, good enough. They had another cooler of drinks, and as more horrifying images were popping up in his mind, booze was the cure he needed. Ryan couldn't make sense of the things he was remembering, from an emerald green eye watching him to a house made of human body parts, and at this point life seemed like nothing but a bad dream. Somewhere in the cobweb infested corners of his mind, Ryan remembered Dallon, and remembered fighting with him. But everything after that was undecipherable nonsense, green and blue pictures mashed together into one puddle of film that bled through his brain.

As Ryan reached into the cooler to grab another bottle, a familiar sight caught his eye— the undead creature, wearing its crimson suit and beetle eyes. He groaned at the sight, turning away from the creature and going to talk to a group of girls that had been eyeing him.

Was that thing ever going to leave? Every hair stood on Ryan's body under the creature's gaze, and he felt as if he couldn't enjoy this party with it there.

But eventually, that room ran out of people too. Ryan didn't know where they were all disappearing off to, vanishing into thin air as soon as his back was turned. A chord of worry struck his heart at this realization, but Ryan shrugged it off, grabbing the handle of the next door opposite to the one he'd entered through and striding into the next room.

Another identical room. And the creature was there once again, sitting in the corner motionlessly like it was nothing more than a creepy statue. But Ryan knew. Ryan knew it only existed to bring harm and misfortune to him, and he knew he'd known this creature for a long time. If only he could remember where he knew it from.

People in this room were more rowdy— Ryan saw people doing drugs, passing around pills discreetly when they thought nobody was looking and taking them with their drinks. He'd tried his fair share of drugs, but they weren't really his thing, and parties that begun with popping pills always ended with a run-in with the cops. So Ryan made his way into the next room, more alarms going off in his head when he realized it was an exact copy of all the previous ones.

People in this room were doing drugs too, but harder stuff than Ryan had ever seen. Pipes and syringes joined his scenery, a thick smell hanging in the air as heavy as the smoke was, giving Ryan a headache. This party was beginning to descend into one of the bad ones, the ones where people got violent and vomit carpeted the floor. Ryan didn't like those types of parties, even though they were the ones he usually got caught at.

He wanted the first room back. He wanted the easy-going party, with the guys playing pool and people laughing. This room held nothing but tension and smoke, a terrible feeling poking at Ryan's gut when he saw girls passed out on the floor.

He needed to get out of here, or at least back to the first room.

But when he swung open the door he'd come in through, nothing sat behind it. The room he'd just come in from had disappeared just as the people had, a blank void stretching out into a vast expanse of nothingness in front of Ryan. He slammed the door shut quickly, afraid of falling through the frame and floating through the black vacuum for the rest of eternity.

Fear made Ryan sweat, damp patches making their home under his armpits as he rushed to the door across from him. But it only led to another identical room, with its green carpet and orange curtains, nothing but darkness outside the windows.

No no no. There had to be a way out of this party. More people were passed out in this room, music playing lowly in the background as baggies of white were distributed. In his rush to get to the next door, hoping it would lead to an exit, Ryan bumped into a guy, promptly spilling his drink down the front of Ryan's shirt.

The guy mumbled an apology, but Ryan was too dazed to hear it, panicked out of his drunkenness. The drink was somehow hot and cold at the same time, burning Ryan's chest and leaving him freezing and sticky as he ran across another room, dashing for the next door, praying it would be the last one. But behind every door laid the same room, with the same creature sitting in the corner, bug eyes gleaming with amusement at the sight of Ryan's distress.

This was too much. Eventually, the mixture of booze and secondhand smoke made Ryan too dizzy to continue on, sinking to the floor of one of the rooms and catching his breath. He gagged once, twice, before swallowing down the nausea that laid thick in his stomach, watching someone puke into a vase.

"Please..." Ryan whimpered to nobody in particular, tears filling his eyes. He was defeated, and all he wanted to do was leave. To go home and be met with Dallon's big arms, to be given a warm bath and an aspirin and a motherly scolding from Dallon. And to sink under the covers of their bed like they were the most comfortable thing in the world, leaving all his worries to sort out in the morning when his hungover would be waiting with a glock to his head. But he was trapped in this endless house, tasting nothing but his own sweat and blood on his tongue, eyes closing by themselves as he cradled his head in his hands.

At the sound of his feeble voice, the creature stood and walked over to Ryan, shrouding him in its shadow.

"Please let me go home, please." Ryan begged through a mess of tears, rolling down his face and dripping onto his lap. He didn't know how he knew this creature was in charge of his fate, but it was a solid fact in his mind, that this monstrosity played fast and loose with his future like a cat with a ball of yarn.

"Why would you want to leave? This is everything you've ever wanted, isn't it?" The creature asked, voices echoing over themselves. It bent down to meet Ryan's height, giant horns nearly knocking into Ryan's head as he reeled away. The smell on the creature was unbearable, like a bundle of rotten fruit, the cherry on top to Ryan's migraine. The _rotten_ cherry on top.

Ryan could only shake his head, sniffling away his runny noise as another batch of tears overtook his eyes, ashamed of acting so young at a place so suddenly dangerous. Ryan wasn't safe there. And he wouldn't be safe until he was back at home with Dallon, stifling a smile as Dallon caressed his skin when he thought Ryan was sleeping.

"I- I don't want this, I wanna go home..." Ryan whined through blurry eyes, voice turning ragged as stronger sobs made his body tremble. "Please let- let me leave... please..."

The situation in the room had plummeted with no sign of ending. Guys were dragging girls away, people were kissing unconscious people, and puffs of smoke made Ryan choke on his own breath, gagging again as the creature tutted.

Why was it torturing him? What had Ryan done to deserve such grand punishment from something so hideously dreadful?

"I thought you never wanted to go home again." The creature bent down further to speak over the music, foul smell growing stronger as Ryan heaved again. "Isn't a never ending party what you desired? To never have to face your lover and the memories he holds again?"

Ryan recalled Dallon's resemblance to Ronnie, and how he avoided Dallon because of it. And now, as Ryan was crying through his teeth, he wanted nothing but to see Dallon's angry face again. He realized that all those times he'd dreaded going home after a party were worthless, because now, Ryan never wanted to step foot in another party again.

He just wanted to go home.

"I was w-wrong... I need to go home..." Ryan wept, words interrupted by stuttered gasps for air. "I don't want to party anymore."

"It's far too late for that now," The creature stood up, reaching out its hand to display the human eye on its palm once again. "You're greedy. You wish for one thing your entire life, and as soon as it's granted, you change your mind."

Ryan could barely hear the creature's poisonous words over his breaths, pressing his thumbs into his temples and relishing in his slowing pulse. At least if he was unconscious, he wouldn't have to experience the horrors of this party anymore, the terrible sights of people losing their entire lives in seconds.

Ryan never wished for this. In the past, he had wished he never had to go home again, had wished he could live at a party forever and never have to face his responsibilities, but he'd never truly meant those wishes. And he'd never wished for _this_.

His vision tunneled as his breaths loitered, getting caught in his throat. The scene of the party began to dim around him, falling forward into the creature's polished shoes, their gleam the last thing Ryan saw before nothing.

**\- 3 -**

Ugh.

When Ryan stood, all he could see was darkness, stretching on for miles in front of him.

His head was throbbing with pain, the same type of pain his hangovers brought. You'd think after years of drinking he'd be able to hold his own, but like clockwork every morning, he'd be ambushed by a spell of vertigo and nausea.

Hands. Legs. Arms. Head. All of him was there, solid beneath Ryan's fingertips and he patted himself down. He wasn't wearing anything special, just a nondescript teeshirt and sweatpants, body not too hot but not too cold. Everything in this vast expanse of darkness was at an equilibrium, as if Ryan was standing on the edge creation, waiting for something to happen.

All he could remember was fighting with Dallon, then seeing two faceless corpses, then the thick smell of weed and smoke. Anything before or after that was lost to the fuzz in Ryan's mind, television static that fizzled in the cracks of his brain like a carbonated drink, as if the blank spots in his memory had been filled by a thick goo.

Where was this? And more importantly, where was Dallon?

Where was _home_?

"This is your only home now." A familiar voice rang out from behind Ryan, a myriad of different tones overlapping. He spun around to try to meet the creature, but all he could make out was the thick blanket of darkness, fear making his body go cold.

If he couldn't see what was going on, Ryan wouldn't be able to protect himself from whatever torture was going to come next. By now, he'd noticed the pattern in the nightmares, when he'd be knocked unconscious and wake up to another horror orchestrated by the vile monster— first it was his humanized childhood home and the death of his fake parents, then it was the infinite party that plunged into corruption and drugs, and now, Ryan didn't want to confront whatever was going to pop out of the shadows now.

"Wh-Where am I?" Ryan sputtered, heart thumping in his ears as he reached out to the direction the voice had come from. He half expected to meet with the smooth bone of the bull skull, but nothing touched him, quickly pulling his hand back to his chest when the voice spoke again.

"You're inside your mind." The creature's voice came from another direction this time, echoing through the empty expanse. "All of this— the images that have been filling your mind— aren't reality. I decide what happens to your consciousness from now on, and since you went and got yourself institutionalized, I think it's best we take some time to get to know each other."

Ryan's legs were aching, so he folded them beneath himself and sat on the flat floor, heart only screaming louder in his ears at the creature's words. Its tempo reminded him of Dallon's bass, steady and strong, humming away inside his ribcage like it never had before. He'd never been so alive, yet apparently, none of this was real. Nothing was real. And he was trapped inside his own mortality, where everything he'd seen had been nothing but images flashing behind his eyes.

One part of Ryan wanted to be relieved, but there were too many questions that the creature's words had unearthed. Questions left hanging like loose threads of a green hoodie, one that Ryan could almost feel on his arm even though nobody else was near him. The ghost of someone's hand was skimming his arm, light touches of fingertips that reminded Ryan of all the times Dallon had pet his skin when he thought Ryan was sleeping. And how positively adorable it was when Dallon would gentle kiss him, pressing his lips against Ryan ever-so-softly like he was afraid of waking him up.

Ryan wanted Dallon, he really did. But he was convinced that the invisible touch of Dallon's long fingers on his arms was nothing more than another thing his mind had created, another way of tormenting Ryan's emotions. And it sure as hell was working.

Something cracked inside Ryan as he began to weep, crying out for Dallon. He was lost. And lonely. And his body had never been so cold, so utterly alone in this empty void he couldn't help but wonder if he was inside his heart, in the hole Dallon had left.

Not knowing what had happened at all was the worst torture out of all of it, racking his brain for something, _anything_ that could tell him how he ended up trapped inside his own mind with a creature of his nightmares. Was this Ryan's own fault?

"Dallon... Dallon, please, I'm sorry..." Ryan whispered out into the void, insides crumbling to dust as more sobs were ripped from his lungs. A sea of raw terror was drowning him, suffocating Ryan until he was gasping for air, unsure why he was so suddenly hysterical for Dallon.

He was supposed to hate Dallon. He was supposed to rebel against his rules, to fight ruthlessly with him until the early hours of the morning, when the sun would paint the tired creases of Dallon's face hues of red and orange. At the end, they'd settle into bed together, and even though Ryan's body was warmed by his pointless anger towards Dallon, he was still cold without the taller man pressed up against his back.

Right now, Ryan had never been colder without Dallon, so many indescribable emotions sweeping his body it was hard to think straight. It seemed one minute Ryan was breathing slowly, collecting his thoughts and reassuring himself, and the next he was in a full-blown downwards spiral towards panic.

And then, all of a sudden, his brain went blank. Ryan sat up robotically, staring emptily into the ebony distance, as if he was nothing more than one of the creature's puppets. He might as well be, seeing how the creature had his mind wrapped around its slender claw, toying with his emotions like they were the yo-yo on the end of a string.

"See how easy it is for me to take everything from you?" The creature chuckled diabolically, a low sound that Ryan felt in his lungs. "I own you. I control you. And it's foolish for you to think your lover will ever return for you, when you can't even remember how you hurt him."

Another chuckle. This time it was deeper, reverberating through Ryan's bones like the vibrations of Dallon's bass.

"You're pathetic. You will do as I say, or else I'll take more."

A light flickered on overhead Ryan, a singular beam shining down on the bug-eyed creature, with its stripped skull and raven horns.

Nothing sparked inside Ryan at the appearance anymore.

He was empty.

And he couldn't do anything but listen to the creature's strong collage of voices.

"Good boy."

The creature extended a claw, green eye blinking on its palm as Ryan took it without second thought. How could he have a second thought? His mind and soul belonged to the creature now, and it was useless to fight back.

Ryan didn't want to think about how he'd left Dallon anymore. And he didn't want to think about what the creature would do if he wasn't compliant. So Ryan let the creature pull him up to his legs, his hand tiny compared to the creature's big one. It was strong. And so tall.

"Now, let's take a walk, shall we?" The creature rested its hand on top of Ryan's head, digging its claws into his hair. Ryan could feel the eye blink against his scalp, as rhythmic as the steady drum of his heart.

Ryan wasn't in control anymore. But there was something so comforting about not having to think for himself, to be drained of every worry as he drifted closer to the creature.

Its chest was so broad. And its skull was so refined. And the dead flower in its pocket was so... pretty.

That smell was almost soothing on Ryan's tense nerves, making its home in his lungs as him and the creature walked out of the beam of light side by side. It pacified his brain, legs wobbly beneath him as he inhaled that decayed smell again, dependent on its scent. He _needed_ it to survive. To keep moving. To keep walking further into the darkness, holding the creature dearly.

Like it was his beloved. If Ryan didn't have Dallon anymore, this monster was the only thing he had left.

A loud clank echoed through the massive room when the lights turned on above them, revealing a sight that would be horrifying to the ordinary person. But Ryan wasn't a person anymore, staring heavy-lidded out onto the sea of mannequins in front of them.

"Do you recognize these people?" The creature spoke gently now, like a mother would to her crying child. Ryan meant to shake his head, but his body didn't listen and nodded instead, body propelled forward by the creature's force. He might as well be made of wood and have strings attached to his limbs, nothing more than a puppet for the creature to play with, head hollowed out by the rancid smell of spoiled fruit.

Ryan didn't know these mannequins. Hell, Ryan didn't know his own hand from the creature's. And like a lost duckling, he attached himself to the first thing he saw, glued at the hip to the creature as they dove into the maze of plastic people.

"This is everyone you've infected." The creature cooed, stroking Ryan's hair in comfort as they dodged grey limbs, sticking out in awkward positions. Every mannequin was a copy, a grey human with no defining characteristics, indents where their lips and eyes were supposed to be. They stretched on as far as the eye could see, polished bald heads gleaming in the blinding overhead lights.

"And I'm so _proud_ of you..." The creature whispered, brushing Ryan's hair out of eyes gingerly, like he was something precious. The gesture numbed Ryan's mind further, resting his head on the silk of the creature's suit and drinking in the smell.

He was so utterly... empty. And whatever sliver of his brain was left loved the creature's praise, warmed by the sweet approval he'd never gotten in his life. It was like a drug, addicting to Ryan's sedated state of mind, turning him into nothing more than a vacant pawn of a human to this creature.

"You've done so well, but you need to do a bit more," The creature stopped in the midst of the mannequins, gazing down at Ryan. It's eyes shone with secrecy and corruption. "When you wake up, I need you to infect your lover."

Ryan tipped his head in confusion, a name ringing out through his head. A name he'd heard somewhere before, but he couldn't recall where.

"Dallon?" He asked, but as soon as the words left his mouth, every memory came rushing back.

Dallon. The countless fights. The nights spent on different sides of the bed. The booze, the drinking and the second hand smoke. The faceless parents. The needles and spoons.

_Dallon._

Ryan was full again, but in the worst way possible. This creature— this- this _thing_ — was controlling Ryan's mind, switching him between an obedient slave and his actual self.

"W-What the fuck did you do to me?!" Ryan cried, taking a step forward to try to swing at the creature. He pulled his arm back, but it froze midair, unable to move forward and complete the punch.

He was suspended in a cast of horror, glaring at the creature with all the might he could. What else could he do to himself under the creature's control? More importantly, what else could he do to the people he loved?

The realization made Ryan stumble back into a mannequin, sending all of them toppling over like a grey sea of plastic dominoes, clacking against each other as they fell. But he was too scared to take his eyes off of the creature, hands trembling as he held them in front of himself, unsure of whose they were.

They weren't his hands. And this wasn't his body. Ryan belonged to the creature now, a soul imprisoned inside a human that wasn't him anymore.

"Stay in line, or I'll do it again." The creature growled, voice suddenly raspy.

Ryan was rooted to the floor, searching for some way out of this. For an exit, an escape door that would bring him back to the real world, not one was that fabricated by the thing inside his brain. But the walls were smooth, ground blanketed by piles of fallen mannequins, all stone-faced and deadpan.

There was only one way he'd escape— knock himself unconscious again. So Ryan dropped to his knees as quickly as he could, letting his head connect with the hard ground, a sharp pain spreading through his skull before nothing.

**\- 4 -**

This room was different.

Lavish, wine-red curtains clung to the window sills, pushed by an unseen wind. Outdoors, a barren tundra of snow stared back at Ryan, snowflakes sticking to the window as they whipped against the glass panes with incredible force. A fuzzy carpet tickled his bare feet, as lush and thick as a collie's fur, room hauntingly dim except for the glow of the snowstorm outside the windows.

The creature sat at the other end of the room, perched atop a golden throne, slender legs crossed, filing its wiry claws with a knife. The knife dipped between its jagged fingers, rubbing it against the tips of the claw and sharpening them, no doubt to torture Ryan with.

"Why am I here? Why don't you just let me die already?" Ryan's voice was broken and cracked, caught on the spikes of fear that lined his throat. He was sick of playing this twisted game, ready for the creature to cut his consciousness short and to end the torment.

"Because if you perish, I perish along with you." The creature flicked the knife away, landing on the carpet with a soft thud. "—And, I must say, it's rather fun to have a pet like you."

"I'm not your pet." Ryan said with as much force as he could muster, planting his feet on the ground and preparing for whatever punishment he'd earn for saying that. But the creature chuckled, turning its snout in Ryan's direction after it finished inspecting its hand.

"Hm." It guffawed, a short, laugh-like sound filling Ryan's ears. "Look at you, pretending to be so strong. I know your weaknesses. I know everything that makes your skin crawl, every tiny thing that keeps you awake at night, and yet, you still think you can fight me. It's amusing."

Ryan was grasping for words, all tangled and jumbled in his mouth as he tried to come up with a remark. This wasn't what fighting with Dallon was like— with Dallon, Ryan always knew what to say and exactly how to push Dallon's buttons. But this thing knew everything about Ryan, including the way he argued, and it might as well know the next words Ryan was about to say, even if Ryan didn't know them himself.

"...I just want to go home. It's all I ask of you, you can still live in my head after. I just want to go home." Ryan was defeated, throat closing up at the end of his sentence, tears stinging at his eyes. This was hopeless, pleads dying off midair before they could reach the hollow ears of the skull. Even if they did reach the creature's ears, it would pay him no heed and no sympathy, a monster so cruel it was deaf to even the most broken of promises.

"How can wish so desperately for a place you can't remember?" The creature stood, another wave of the smell making Ryan dizzy. It was as if it was _trying_ to get in his head, to make him numb and mindless again. To make him the creature's slave.

Those words were venomous, reminding Ryan that he couldn't remember where home was. Home was the tender part of his heart, the place that held nostalgia of a time that didn't exist, the place that smelled like coffee and Dallon's cheap cologne. Home was wrapped in clean sheets after a long night, was passed out face-down on the couch, was little yips from a dog he couldn't remember and a foggy bathroom after a warm shower.

But Ryan didn't know where that was. And he didn't know why he yearned so badly to be there once again, to sink into secondhand couch cushions and sip coffee from a handmade mug, to scratch behind the dog's ears and listen to the drone of the news. His heart ached for those early mornings and late nights at home, wherever home may be.

Dallon was home. If Ryan could find Dallon, then he'd be able to find home again.

"I- I don't know where home is..." Ryan admitted out loud, as if to confirm his thoughts. "I dunno... where to go."

"This is your home now. The creature held out a claw to the room, gesturing to the thick carpet and snow-speckled window panes. "I am your home now, and it would be wise to respect your new master."

"I... I want to wake up." Ryan said in a flat tone, nothing more enticing in the world than the idea of waking up. Waking up would mean seeing Dallon. Waking up would mean going home. "But I dunno how..."

"What do you mean you don't know how to wake up?" If the creature could smile, it would be grinning from horn to horn right now, voice dangerously nefarious. It was dripping with poison and malevolence, all those thousands of voices so cheerfully giddy Ryan felt sick. In fact, there hadn't been a second in all of these nightmares where Ryan didn't feel nauseous, inside melting together at the stench and the sound.

"I- I don't remember how to wake up..." Ryan uttered, body going hideously cold at the realization. He didn't know how to wake up. That meant he might be here forever, and Ryan didn't want to imagine the types of things this creature would make him do.

"Have you forgotten what's it like to be alive? To be, in essence, _awake_?" The creature giggled through its sentence, words like daggers in Ryan's spine.

He didn't know how to be alive anymore. All Ryan knew was what death felt like, how empty he was inside and how decayed his skin suddenly felt. This wasn't his body, but it was rotting at an unbelievable rate, bones turning to mush inside of him.

What was happening to him?

"I dunno... I dunno, I dunno..." Ryan repeated, voice tiny compared to the boulder of fear in his throat. He didn't know. He didn't know how to be alive anymore.

"I think—" The creature stood in front of Ryan, stroking his cheek with the back of its claw. Ryan wanted to reel away at the gesture, but his legs were stuck, body breaking down and decomposing beneath him. "—that it would be wise for you to wake up soon, hm?

_Before you've forgotten how."_

"I... I can't..." Admitting it out loud only made Ryan's heart sink deeper into his body, sitting in his feet as his skin faded grey and the world started to blur into yellows and blues. "I can't wake up, I- I forget how. I forget how to be alive, master."

The title slipped out of his mouth unnoticed, but Ryan was too busy gazing at his hands, blurred beyond recognition. What had just been two perfectly normal _human_ hands were now covered in blood, red liquid dripping from his twitching fingers.

"Then I guess we'll be here for a while, hm, pet?" The creature spat the last word, tilting Ryan's chin up with a single claw and forcing him to look it in the eyes. But Ryan's eyes couldn't clear up, rolling back into his skull the further back his head was tipped, like they were unattached to his eye sockets.

"Ungh... ungh..." Ryan groaned, tears filling his eyes and obstructing his view of the creature. It pulled him close to its chest at the sound of his sniffles, wrapping its strong arms around him and rocking them together, calming on Ryan's panicked mind.

He hated the creature. He hated it more than he'd ever hated Dallon. No, his hatred for Dallon was based on a foundation of love, concrete enough that Ryan didn't have to worry about his hate ever resulting in anything. But his hatred for the creature was broiling, bubbling on the surface of his grey skin, a heat so vile and harsh in twisted violently inside him like some decade-old urge to rebel and defy those who owned him. To rebel those who tried to put a label on him, who forced him into schools and programs he never wanted to go into.

Like his parents. And as Ryan melted into the creature's arms, he could feel the manipulation in its embrace, a hug so familiar he felt like he was a child once again.

He hated it.

In a burst of fury, Ryan gathered every last ounce of strength left in his body and shoved the creature away, breaths ragged and torn. Tears rolled down his cheeks, like trails of wax on a candle, where his spine was the wick and his rotting brain was the flame.

The creature stumbled back in shock at Ryan's defiance, taking in his seething demeanour and the rage that gleamed in his eyes.

"'m not..." Ryan searched his mind for the words, mouth barely moving anymore. It was like ventriloquism, except he was both the puppet and the puppeteer, trying to regain control in his own body. "I'm... not... your... pet..."

"Idiotic boy." The creature spoke through gritted teeth, yet somehow it's snout was still, beady eyes narrowing on Ryan from across the room. "If only you'd let me control your pretty little mind, we could be amazing together. We could take as much as we wanted from this broken world, yet you still continue to fight the person who only wants the best for you. You truly are an idiot."

Textbook manipulation. The exact same his parents used to say to him, before he cut them out of his life. If there was one thing Ryan could remember, it was their masks of kindness and their crocodile tears, the fake words that had lingered under Ryan's skin for his entire life.

He staggered towards the creature again, swinging his arm back to hit it again, something he'd always wanted to do when his parents were acting like they cared. But the creature stepped back again, and then it was much too far for Ryan to reach, legs gooey beneath him.

"So that's how you'd like to act, like a stumbling drunkard." The creature sighed and sat in its throne, snapping its claws. Ryan was too numb to hear the snap, but he watched the two fingers click together, knees suddenly buckling beneath him. "It's obvious you don't know what's good for you. All I wanted to do was help, and this is how you treat me in return?"

Ryan didn't have an answer. He could barely hear the words over the throbbing of his headache, like someone was whacking at his skull with a hammer.

"If you want to act like a little brat, I'll just have to treat you like one." The creature simpered, tone much too thrilled to mean anything good for Ryan. He couldn't imagine what being treated like a brat would mean, but then again, Ryan couldn't imagine anything right now except going home, wherever home may be.

Coffee pots. Cool sheets. A dog and a boyfriend.

Why had he thrown it all away? Just to be tormented by a monster in his mind, to be trapped asleep forever? To forget what he'd done in the first place that warranted such abuse from an entity he didn't even know?

What did he do to deserve this?

Ryan's world was distorting, like his eyes were a kaleidoscope that had been smashed, glass shards magnifying every little detail he could see while simultaneously disfiguring them. He pressed the heels of his palms into his sockets in hopes of stopping them from shattering, but to no avail, the room was just as cracked as it was when he closed his eyes. All Ryan could make out was a red liquid dripping down the blank wallpaper, one he could nearly taste in the back of his throat— metallic and tangy.

Blood.

It warmed Ryan's dead legs as it rose, soaking into the carpet and filling the room. As it reached his stomach, Ryan felt it fill his insides too, as if he was completely empty inside except for the tepid blood.

Who's was it? And why was it in Ryan, heating his otherwise cold body as it rose to his neck?

"Does it feel good? To swim in the blood of your victims, every life you stole?" The creature spoke from across the room like it could read his mind, before Ryan remembered it could. "You're nothing without them, without the blood that used to course through their veins. And you're nothing without me."

Ryan tipped his chin up as the blood climbed higher, now fully submerging his limp body, tears slipping down his cheeks. He was going to suffocate in it, wasn't he? It was going to fill this room, this final level of hell, and Ryan was going to choke and die.

"If it wasn't for everyone you ate, you'd be empty inside. Their blood is the only thing keeping you alive, the only thing keeping you whole, and now, you're going to die in it."

He gasped for what would be his last breaths of air before the blood covered his nose, and then his eyes, nothing surrounding him except for a dark red. There were only so many seconds before Ryan would run out of air, but what was he supposed to do except take his torture for whatever he had done.

Everyone he _ate_? The blood of his _victims_? What homicidal rampage had Ryan gone on under the influence of the creature's control?

Had he... killed Dallon? No, Ryan couldn't bear to think that thought. Besides, it wasn't like he could think about anything as his lungs started to ache for air, swallowing down mouthfuls of the blood and breathing it up his nose, filling his lungs with it like it was his second oxygen.

Except it wasn't a second oxygen— and he was drowning in it. Ryan went lightheaded as his eyes burned in the liquid, flailing around and trying to reach the ceiling, but his head only knocked against it in his panicked squirms. The entire room was filled to the brim, not one inch of air for Ryan to breathe, not that he thought there'd be.

This creature was unforgiving and vindictive, and Ryan wasn't surprised that it had chosen to kill him. He only wished it had been in a painless fashion, instead of the strain Ryan's body was facing, like his lungs were being squeezed by the creatures claws as spots of black burned into his vision. They overtook his eyes like a plague, before all Ryan could see was black, and then, nothing.

He would've never known there was a difference between black and nothing. But Ryan was positive he was looking at nothing— no colour, no shade, just a blank void that his consciousness was gripping onto like a mother to her newborn child.

And even though he felt greedy for admitting it,

Ryan was grateful for the nothingness, especially now that the creature failed to exist in the cavern of his reality.

**\- RYAN'S INNER DIALOGUE -**

There's something warm on my forehead.

I didn't even know I had a head anymore. The last thing I can remember is choking on the blood in my lungs, the type that bled throughout my entire body even thought it wasn't mine. I think the scariest thing is not knowing whose it was before it filled me.

But the touch on my forehead— one so supple and gentle I can't help but moan a bit on the inside— is familiar. I feel like sleeping beauty, but only if sleeping beauty was hospitalized and had tubes shoved down her throat.

The tubes, ugh the tubes, they're horrible. In whatever nightmares I had just had— which were still hard to disparage as only nightmares and not reality— I hadn't been conscious of the tubes going up my nose and the ones filling my mouth, rubbing against the walls of my throat with every laboured breath I draw in.

If I could feel uncomfortable, I would. But the lips on my forehead are too soothing to allow for any discomfort in my body, disappointment replacing the pain in my limbs when they pull away.

I don't know who kissed my forehead. But whoever it was has taken my hand in theirs, fingers strong and warm as they wrap around my paralyzed ones. I know I can't move and comfort them in return, but that doesn't stop me from trying with all my strength, fighting against the glue that holds my eyelids closed and my limbs motionless.

I wish I knew what happened to me, I really do, but it's refreshing not to know. It's still taking me time to process the dreams I'd just had, the creature that loved to treat me like its kin and every sick image I had seen. Add a fuzzy memory and the sight of my own eyelids, and you have me, sitting on the line between absolute panic and absolute bliss.

At least I'm warm and taken care of. I can feel the pillows holding my head up and the blankets wrapped around me, needles slid into my hand and wires stretching across my body. They're hooked up everywhere, from something taped to my chest to another taped to my temple, most likely to monitor my brain activity and heart rate.

Yeah, I don't know what happened, but I know what a hospital looks like. And by my best guess, I'm in a hospital bed, life hanging on by the threads of the medical equipment connected to me. I want to be able to say it hurts, but in all honestly, I can't feel any of the side effects of the plastic that links my body to machine.

I can only feel his hand on mine, fingers dancing over the needle like he's playing the bass on my arm. If I could smile right now, I'd cry.

So I let my mind ease into the peace of my sleep, although I'm not sleeping. It's as if I'm relaxing in bed, somewhere between slumber and alertness, relishing the feeling of the man's lips on my forehead.

I think I know who his is. Maybe if I think hard enough, I can remember what happened to me.

So I strain my mind, searching every back-road and side-street for any information that could patch together what had happened between when I left our house and when I woke up in the nightmare. Bit by bit, I start to thread together glimpses of what happened, snippets of shattered eyes and peachy flesh and latex gloves. Somewhere in the back of my mind, screams haunt my memory, the squelch of human organs and the sobs of the man holding my hand.

And then I know.

I know everything.

I know the groans that slipped past my lips, the blank spots in my mind where words used to go. I know smelling blood and thinking of a meal, I know being bitten and I know limping down streets. I know the tears in Dallon's eyes as he gazed over my dead body, the howls he made when we were separated, the gun to my head and the muzzle on my mouth.

I know it _all._

And it's too much to handle.

So much so that I jolt out of my sleep, sitting up in bed and struggling to get the stupid ventilator out of my mouth. In the panic and madness of it all, a scream leaves my chest, but I don't hear it fill the room. I only hear Dallon wail my name in distress, like he doesn't know who I am anymore. I don't even know who I am anymore, if I'm still undead, or if my heart beats at an even rhythm. I don't even know if I can carry an even rhythm anymore, and who I am without drums?

Who am I without the thing in my head?

When I had half a brain, I didn't realize how dependent I was on the parasite that infested my mind, the one that told me where to go and what to do. But now that my thoughts are my own and my mind is silent, I have no clue what comes after this, if I can even be excused for the horrors I've committed.

In the strangest way, I want the parasite to come back, to tell me how I'm supposed to live from now on. Because right now without it, I can barely breathe, and my heart is twisting in my chest like it wants out. I think I choke out another scream, but it's hard to tell at this point. Those same black dots are clouding my vision, disappearing and reappearing as more doctors swarm me.

I don't want the doctors. I want Dallon. And I want to know what's going on.

I want to go home.

But as another wave of pain settles onto my heart, I can't help but wonder if my home is six feet in the ground.

After all, it seems all I know is how to be dead.

**\- END OF PART 6 -**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm so sorry this took me so long to update!!
> 
> unfortunately, my quarantine is coming to an end and school starts on monday for me :( this doesn't mean that i'll stop writing, but chapters will definitely take longer to come out,,, but i'll always try my hardest to get them done on time :) <3
> 
> if you understand every bit of symbolism in this chapter, you can take over my job, because i sure as hell don't know what it means and i'm the one who wrote it. also i think this is the longest chapter i've ever written, which is pretty epic :)
> 
> thanks for reading!! and to all my new readers, hi what's up? don't be shy to leave a comment, i always try my hardest to respond to them as soon as possible!! <333


	7. Part 7 - if i were you, then i'd stop talking ('cause soon you'll be a dead man walking)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw this chapter for hospitals, mentions of blood and throwing up, some angst, bugs, pills and medicine, mentions of guns and mentions of violence.
> 
> last chapter!! whoo!! and it only took me an entire month to write!!
> 
> im glad to be back :) enjoy!!

**\- DALLON & RYAN -**

"More coffee?"

"Yes please."

Dallon filled his mug to the brim and handed it to Ryan, guiding his hand to his lips and making sure he didn't spill any. It was still taking Ryan some time to adjust to moving again, which included lots of accidents and broken dishes, but Dallon was always there with a broom, a dustpan, and reassurances that it wasn't a big deal.

It had been two months since the outbreak. Two months since Ryan was bitten, two months since the world was turned a rusty colour, two months since the hospital and the operations.

Ryan was back.

Dallon wished he could say Ryan was healthy, but that wasn't entirely true. A cocktail of drugs had killed the parasite in his brain, but their side-effects took a toll on Ryan's body, along with learning how to walk and talk again after the coma.

Him and Ryan had been discharged from the hospital two weeks after Ryan woke up. Since then, they'd been attending weekly appointments, not counting the few emergency scares they had where Ryan had to stay overnight again.

Soon after being discharged, Ryan was put on a wait list for a prosthetic arm. Physical therapy appointments were added to their otherwise empty calendar, but Dallon had been helping Ryan at home too, from carrying him up the stairs to working with flash cards to help Ryan remember all the words he knew before the coma.

It was work Dallon would've never imagined he'd have to do. But Dallon loved Ryan more than anything, and the coma had proved that Dallon would go any length to help Ryan recover, even if it meant dedicating all his time to helping Ryan relearn how to be a human being.

The first few days at home were tough; they were filled with miscommunication and slurred words, with tears and kisses that weren't really kisses, but more confirmation that they were both alive. Ryan had fallen down the stairs more times than he wanted to admit, so Dallon made sure he never left his side, whether it be walking around the house with him in his arms, or helping Ryan stand in the shower as he washed out the lice treatment. Dallon got lice too, so they were both forced to rub the strong-smelling shampoo on their scalps and let it sit until it burnt, chemicals killing all the little bugs.

Dallon didn't show one ounce of anger towards Ryan. It wasn't his fault for getting lice, just like it wasn't his fault for getting bitten and it wasn't his fault for falling into a coma. He knew how shameful Ryan was already feeling, between his incapability to take care of himself and the fact that they'd gotten into this situation in the first place, so Dallon was extra careful to always approach the situation with a gentle smile and reassurance.

It was the least he could do after kicking Ryan out. Maybe it wasn't his fault, but that didn't erase the guilt that lingered under his skin, the same guilt that had been there since the minute he found Ryan in the middle of the street.

Dallon attended all of Ryan's therapy appointments, both physical and mental, meeting Breezy back at the hospital for his own appointments. He'd been getting more stable with each appointment, but Dallon wasn't ready to say goodbye to Breezy and the peace of mind she gave him whenever she consoled him.

Bit by bit, the world outside was returning to normalcy. The cure was quickly distributed across the country, and while everyone mourned the loss of those too far gone to save, the world begun to heal. There was a strict curfew implemented, and law enforcement still patrolled the streets nightly, but at least Dallon could go to the store without a baseball bat in hand.

At least he had Ryan back, even if his legs didn't work properly on most days and his words were garbled. Living back at home was a big adjustment for both of them, especially now that Dallon had to worry about running a house and taking care of Ryan.

The car, which had miraculously ended up back in their driveway, had to be sold after the hospital bills. Not even the American government could spare some sympathy in a time like this, and the bill was stacked heavy and high against Dallon, a debt that would hang over him like a shadow for his entire life.

It didn't matter. Dallon would give away everything they owned if it meant Ryan would be healthy.

After he was rushed away, Dallon had waited for hours in his hospital room, mind almost empty. How could he think about anything while Ryan was down the hall, spread open by latex-covered hands, a tiny bug squirming around his head?

A tiny, white bug. Dallon had no idea what the parasite looked like, but he could imagine it perfectly. Maybe it was years of watching zombie movies, but Dallon pictured a squirmy little maggot, a white worm that munched on brain cells like a caterpillar on leaves.

The fact that _that_ was inside Ryan— that it writhed and wriggled between the folds of his brain— was horrifying to Dallon. But thankfully, hours later, Ryan would be wheeled back into his room by a group of solemn-looking doctors. Their lips were pulled tight, the bags under their eyes had packed their own suitcases and their eyes were glazed over, almost like they were in an exhaustion-induced daze. But their hands had worked miracles, even if they were trembling as they attached monitors to Ryan.

"...It's done." One of them breathed out in a sigh, words lost to the wind of their exhale. Dallon's heart peeked up from its puddle of misery on the floor, but he didn't avert his gaze from Ryan's sleeping face, nose twitching in his slumber.

"W...What's done?" Dallon mumbled, almost in the same trance-like state that the doctors were in. The lines on Ryan's face— which had been there for as long as Dallon could remember— were thicker than they'd ever been, like someone had dragged a sharpie through the creases on his skin. They were under his eyes, down the sides of his nose, and laced on his eyelids like a black veil, skin blossoming all different shades of purple. The back of his head was shaved for the surgery, but Dallon couldn't see the scar from where he was sitting, not that he wanted to see it.

Just the sight of Ryan rocked Dallon's bones out of place, weary from, well, everything. Dallon felt like dirt had been packed around his bones, like his muscles had crusted with rust from sitting in the same position for so long, waiting for Ryan to return from surgery. His body may as well be made of scrap metal, joints cracking and clicking as Dallon stood and made his way over to Ryan, cupping his cheek tenderly.

If Dallon had any energy left, he might've cried. He might've broken down all over again, tin body parts shattering into a million pieces, like a mirror someone had smashed. But there was nothing running through the crater of Dallon's heart; no anguish, no anger, no justifiable guilt or self doubt. Nothing.

He couldn't help but feel like a zombie himself at this point, exhausted far past his years. The human body wasn't made to withstand everything Dallon had been through, and it definitely wasn't made to withstand everything that had happened to Ryan.

It was a miracle that Ryan was still living, if he ever was. Dallon's question was left hanging in the air, but none of the doctors felt the need to speak. Some of the filtered out of the room, and some stayed behind, watching Ryan just as intently as Dallon was.

And then, Ryan's eyes fluttered open once more. They were rimmed with gold, but their full chocolate colour was back, instead of the shards of sea glass that used to live inside Ryan's iris. Dallon wasn't sure if he should be alarmed or glad for the golden foils circling Ryan's irises, but he didn't have time to make up his mind before Ryan mumbled something.

"Dawl?" The nickname was jumbled in his mouth, and even Ryan looked surprised by how it came out, hand shooting to his lips.

"R-Ryan?" Dallon stammered, heart pulsating in his ears with the same tempo as a hummingbird's wings. There was so much blood flowing through his head at Ryan's return that Dallon's ears were ringing, but he didn't care.

He had Ryan back, even if his words got caught between his lips and his eyes were crisp with gaudy gold.

_He had Ryan back_. And Dallon wanted to sing to the heavens.

"Ryan!" Dallon cried once the realization set in, jumping off the bed and taking Ryan's hand between his. "Are you okay? How are you feeling? What happened?"

"Enh?" Ryan grunted, hand stiffening between the sandwich of Dallon's. His knuckles twitched, almost like he was trying to pull away from Dallon's firm grasp. But Dallon was too dumbfounded to notice, tears distorting his vision as a wave of euphoria crashed down over him.

Ryan. _Ryan._ He was back, and he could say Dallon's name. Even if his jaw barely moved and his neck couldn't hold up the weight of his head anymore, or his eyes were fuzzy with a dim shade of confusion.

Dallon couldn't really care less about what Ryan looked like now. All he cared about was the spark of recognition that was fizzling in Ryan's eyes like a sparkler, a static electricity that gathered like a bundle of light. The fuzz in his eyes cleared with every slow blink Ryan took, landing on the needles in his arm, the screens next to him, the bed spanning on in front of him, and finally Dallon once more.

"Dawllin..." Ryan mumbled, rubbing the stubble on his cheeks. The gesture made Dallon wince; he knew how uncomfortable it was for Ryan when he didn't shave, and how much he hated it when his jaw would scratch like sandpaper against his hand.

The way Ryan was talking irked Dallon, a little alarm bell ringing in the corner of his mind. Healthy people didn't slur all their words— healthy people didn't stumble through their words. Healthy people weren't confined to a hospital bed.

As the day would go on, and Dallon would remind Ryan of all the small things in life, like eating and sleeping and making conversation, Dallon would slowly fall into place as Ryan's caregiver. Even though he was stuck in the hospital, Dallon was the one who checked every chart twice and slowly brought their old life back into Ryan's.

In a way, Ryan was reborn. Physical therapy began to take up a good portion of their day, when Ryan would grip onto Dallon so hard it was like a tourniquet for his arm, and walk across the room on unsteady legs. It broke Dallon's heart when Ryan's knees would shake uncontrollably beneath him, and he'd lean onto Dallon, whimpering at the fact that he could barely walk anymore. Through barely comprehensible words, Ryan would plead for a break, but even though he could hear the pure hopelessness in Ryan's crumbling voice, Dallon wasn't allowed to let him stop.

Dallon couldn't imagine how embarrassed Ryan was when his legs wouldn't work or he couldn't feed himself, when Dallon would rush to his side to take care of Ryan. It couldn't be empowering to have someone else infantilize you, even though it wasn't Ryan's fault this had happened in the first place. But after going home from the hospital, when Ryan would find the strength to sit up in bed, he'd spill every thought he couldn't say during the day in front of the speech therapist.

"I- I feewl so dumb, I c-can't do anything..." Ryan would sniff, but his tears would only double when Dallon would wipe them away for him. "I wanna be normawl, I- I don't wanna be a... a... fuck, what's the word."

Ryan snapped his fingers, something he'd only re-learned recently. He'd do it every time his memory would escape him and he'd forget a word, which was more often than either wanted to admit.

Dallon never handed him the words— apparently it was better to let Ryan get there on his own, rather than feeding him the answer. But all Dallon wanted to do was to speak for Ryan forever, to bathe him and make him feel human all over again, instead of ostracizing him in his own home.

"A- A buwden- fawk, I can't even remembewr what I a-a-am," Ryan sobbed, golden eyes shimmering in the low light of the bedroom. Outside was standing at an eerie stillness, the occasional stray car filling their street with their headlights. Patrol had ended hours ago, and the night had lent the world its quiet peacefulness, an absence of all undead creatures.

Most of Dallon's evenings were spent on the couch watching the news with Ryan's head on his lap, both sitting in silence as images flashed onscreen. The world was still cleansing itself of the virus, as proven by the live-cam footage of soldiers dismembering the corpses that were too far gone to save. Ryan would tense up at the sights of soldiers shooting zombies like it was a video game, staring at the screen with his golden eyes that widened in fear.

Neither of them said what was on their minds. But the thoughts hung in the air nonetheless, eyes drifting to the landscape of their front yard, yellow grass tinted dark by the moon.

What if that had been Ryan? What if Ryan had been one of the creatures on the TV, on the end of their guns, with nothing behind their empty eyes except confusion?

What if Dallon had never found Ryan, and he was left to decompose into a forest of bones?

Both of them were more than thankful for the situation they'd ended up in. But some days, when Ryan's body would be particularly annoying and neither could understand the other, Dallon's sour distaste for the entire situation would bubble to the surface again like toxic waste.

On those days, it took all of Dallon not to let his frustration show through the cracks of his mask of positivity. Because even if taking care of Ryan meant one more thing on Dallon's growing list of responsibilities— one that weighed far too much for him to carry— he'd still be grateful for Ryan's presence alone. Being with a Ryan who could think for himself was much better than being with a Ryan who could barely think, or a Ryan who couldn't think at all.

Sure, a Ryan who could also walk and talk properly would be nice too, but Dallon didn't want to be greedy. In the end, it was nobody's fault Ryan was the way he was, and even though Dallon wanted to be mad at someone, he wasn't going to take it out on Ryan. Especially not when Ryan was in so much pain on the daily.

It was obvious that Ryan was trying to hide his pain. Dallon would catch him wincing as he sat down, or rubbing the stitches on his arm, biting his lip so hard beads of blood would decorate his mouth like a red rosary. But when Dallon would ask him if he was okay, or if he needed any more painkillers, Ryan would shake his head and send that blood splattering across the kitchen tiles.

Dallon would much rather scrub Ryan's blood off the kitchen floor than off his hands. And if that meant slipping a pill or two into his food when he wasn't looking, then so be it.

It was only when Ryan started spitting up blood did Dallon's flimsy barrier against his stress collapse.

The night had ended the same as every one did; Dallon doubled checked all the locks in the house, securing every window and glancing down their street one last time for good measure, making sure the threat of the parasite still lurked far away from them. He'd then clamber into bed next to Ryan, press a kiss to his forehead and whisper a goodnight, pulling the blankets over both of their shoulders.

Dallon had never been one to fall asleep quickly, but these days it was all too easy for slumber to catch his mind in its grasp and lure him into its void. The days were all too long and all too stressful, and by the end, all Dallon could do was let his heavy eyelids be weighed down by his anxiety and hope that the next day would bring better fortune for them. That's why he didn't hear Ryan complain about his stomach, or see him reach for a tissue and cough blood into it.

Dallon only woke up when Ryan's hand found his arm and shook him out of his sleep, a panicked look on Ryan's dark face that Dallon could barely make out through the dim room. But after years of finding Ryan in dark rooms and dragging him home, Dallon had enough practice under his belt to read the emotions on Ryan's face,

and to see the blood that dripped from his lips.

"R-Ry? What's wrong?" Dallon rushed to turn on the bedside lamp, that patch of horror only spreading further on his heart when he could properly make out the liquid running down Ryan's chin.

As red as a cherry with the thickness of honey; it was blood. The only question was whose it was.

"Dal, I'm- I'm gonna be sick-" Ryan's hand scrambled to find Dallon's, grabbing hold of him in a fear Dallon had seen all too much of recently.

It wasn't a flimsy type of fear, no, this one was strong. It rooted itself deep in Ryan's soul, and Dallon had been doing everything he could in his power to dislodge it, or to at least whittle it away until he could barely see it in the corners of Ryan's eyes anymore. But no matter how hard Dallon tried, that pungent horror would always swim inside the red veins of Ryan's eyes, a fear so strong not even Dallon could properly encapsulate it in song lyrics.

Ryan was scared of himself. He didn't know what was happening to his body, why even after they'd gotten rid of the parasite, he still heard it's whispers as he laid awake at night. The night terrors were the worst reminder of who he used to be, when that creature would visit him in his nightmares and toy with his mind like he was a monkey in a science lab.

And as most nights went, all Dallon could do was stare on it a different type of horror as Ryan drooled blood, leaving a red trail of it as he stumbled to the bathroom like rose petals at a wedding.

"Oh, fuck-" Ryan moaned as he leaned over the toilet, shivering as he felt Dallon lift up his shirt and rub his back. Nowadays, the house was kept cold for Ryan to keep him from overheating, but some nights it was so cold not even the warmth of Ryan's medicines could fight off his chills.

"Wh-What do you need?" Dallon stammered, racking his mind for an explanation as to what this was. Doctors had never warned them about whatever this was, and Dallon didn't know how worried he should be.

Ryan coughed again, which sounded more like a gag than anything, and spit out more blood. "H-Hospital, I need the hospital, please..."

Dallon's ears started to ring again, but there wasn't any time for him to relish in the headache that gave him. He fumbled for his phone, but the screen was too blurry for him to see what numbers he was pressing. Dallon knew he shouldn't be crying again, and that he needed to be strong for Ryan, but sometimes Dallon couldn't be strong.

Sometimes he needed to cry. And if now was going to be one of those times, as Ryan choked out blood, then so be it.

The operator on the phone told Dallon that he had to drive Ryan in, as they had no ambulances available, but Dallon could barely hear her words from over the phone. The pressure in his ears was growing larger with every second that Ryan's face was pinched in agony, sobbing quietly into the frozen air of the washroom.

It embraced Dallon like the room was filling with water, and he was floating idly by as Ryan's body shook from not only the pills, but his own misery. He couldn't hear his own voice, reassuring Ryan and telling him as calmly as he could that they'd have to walk to the hospital under the veil of night. Dallon didn't hear Ryan's pleas to let him die already, or the way Ryan cried into his shoulder as Dallon put on his shoes for him, pulling the laces tight.

Dallon didn't hear the door slam on their way out, didn't hear the scruff of Ryan's shoes on the dark pavement as he clung to Dallon, didn't hear the wail of ambulances in the distance.

All he could hear was that terrible pressure, the rush of water and blood through his ears, gushing through his brain at such a fast speed that the rumbling was all Dallon could hear.

They walked down their street in silence, Ryan's arms wrapped around Dallon in desperation. The blood on his chin was dried now, but all Dallon could see was that fear in his eyes, the type that glistened and rolled down his face like liquid glass.

"Dal... Dal, I don't wanna go..." Ryan began to sob into Dallon's neck, feet dragging against the pavement as he limped next to him. "Dallon, don't make me go, don't make me go back..."

Dallon's heart writhed at Ryan's pleads, but he had a duty to ignore them. If he brought Ryan back home, what if his condition worsened? What if...

What if he died?

"Dallon, Dallon please! I- I don't wanna go, I don't wanna go back-" If Ryan had anymore energy, he might have fought Dallon. But he was too weak to do anything but succumb to Dallon's grip, especially when Dallon pulled him tighter to him and squeezed the tears out of him.

"Shh, sweetheart..." Dallon couldn't speak any further than that thanks to the massive lump in his throat.

He couldn't cry. Not while Ryan needed him so desperately. If both of them were vulnerable, who would be there to pick up the remaining shattered splinters when they crumbled into dust?

No, Dallon needed to keep himself intact. Even if his soul became streaked with cracks, like a fine piece of china that fractured under the pressure of a virus too big, Dallon would stay standing.

Because if Dallon wasn't standing strong, Ryan couldn't lean on him for support. And what good was a pile of broken humans?

Dallon was sick of broken humans. Even more than that, he was sick of Ryan being a broken human.

He had whole Ryan back, but he wasn't the same, no matter how many times they went back and forth reciting flashcards to each other.

When the hospital came into sight, Ryan's cries doubled, and his body went limp. Dallon had to nearly haul him through the ER doors, biting his lip to stop himself from bawling the exact same way Ryan was. His face was red now, and not just from the blood crusted on his chin, wiping his nose repeatedly on his sleeve and begging Dallon through broken words.

"D-Dal- Don't m-make me go- I don't wanna go I don't wanna go-" He wailed, trying to pull his arm away from Dallon's as they waited in the triage line. If the world wasn't so upside down, other people would be perturbed by Ryan's hysteria, but everybody was in the same dark state of mind that he was in.

Everybody's faces were streaked with tears. Everybody's hands were shaking, clinging to their loved ones for dear life. Everybody's soul was smashed into a million pieces, and the glue that held it together was dissipating faster than a melting ice cube in the sun.

And Dallon had to be the human in the middle of all of it.

When they reached the nurse's desk, Ryan had pulled himself together enough to stay mostly silent. He was sniffling quietly, hiccuping and wiping away his tears with the back of his hand as Dallon answered all the questions for him, and then the crying started all over again once they were sitting in the waiting room.

"Dal, why didn't you say how bad it was going to be?" Ryan mumbled into Dallon's shoulder, squeezing his eyes shut tighter when another wave of tears overcame him. "I- I just want it to all be over, I don't wanna be sick anymore, I just want to be normal again..."

"...How are you feeling?" Dallon was unsure what to say, dancing around the topic delicately. He was afraid that if he pressed too hard, Ryan's brittle bones would collapse under him again.

"Sick. My stomach hurts." Ryan whined, turning away from Dallon to stare at the television for a few seconds. Some sappy rom-com was on, but it didn't hold Ryan's attention for long until those golden-ringed eyes were back on Dallon. "I just feel... gross. Like my insides are rotten all over again."

Dallon didn't like the sound of that at all, but he couldn't show it. The most anguish Dallon let shine throughout his mask of strength was a small grimace, wrapping Ryan's hand around his own and giving it a squeeze.

"I'm so... so... tired." Ryan's voice broke on the last word, like all his exhaustion was bleeding through it. "I hate hospitals, and I hate the doctors, and I hate the needles and the gross stuff they put down my throat- I- I hate everything. I just want to go home forever and never come back out."

Dallon opened his mouth to console Ryan, but a nurse in white scrubs called their name from across the room, and they were on their feet again. Every pair of once-dead-now-half-alive eyes were on the pair, and Dallon couldn't help but shudder, shielding Ryan from their gazes with his shoulder. Even though they were all human now, they still gawked like the undead had, heads eerily turning towards them like magnets towards metal.

Two hours and three blood tests later, and Ryan was sitting on the edge of a hospital bed, head hanging low. The energy had been drained out of them months ago, but tonight, Dallon couldn't help but let himself go especially numb, like he'd been dropped in a vat of ice water and left to freeze over.

"Well Mr. Seaman," The doctor entered the room with the same air of exhaustion, flipping a sheet of paper over their clipboard. "There's nothing peculiar to be concerned about. Your body is rejecting some of the treatment, and your stomach wasn't properly pumped last time you were here from the human remains you ingested."

"Wh-What does that mean?" Dallon spoke for Ryan, who's skin had gone as paper pale as it used to be. He looked away from Dallon and the doctor, scratching around his ears, and Dallon immediately recognized the nervous tic. Ryan always scratched just behind his ears when he was most anxious, just as Dallon stroked his arms.

"No need for concern, Mr. Weekes. We'll put Ryan on some antibiotics and he'll be back for his checkup next week." The doctor feigned a smile, but it washed away too quickly to leave any comfort. "We're extremely busy at the moment, so I have to ask that you and your husband contact your pharmacy in the morning."

The word _husband_ slipped right between the grates of Dallon's mind, and by the looks of it, Ryan didn't seem to care enough to correct the doctor either. It was hard to care about anything anymore, especially when their trip to the hospital was so anticlimactic.

Adrenaline was leaking out of Dallon as they walked home, bumping shoulders in the darkness of the evening. The moon was shrouded by a wisp of clouds, not that it would offer Dallon much comfort tonight.

Nowadays, the only thing the moon was good for was taunting Dallon of better days. Nature was no longer a place of comfort, but a camouflage hiding space for undead creatures. Even though the military swept each street every night, stray creatures could prowl between the cracks of suburbia, just waiting for fresh meat to walk by. Right now, Dallon was the juiciest piece of steak, and Ryan was a turkey stuffed full of chemicals, pills and other humans' blood.

Dallon wondered which one of them they'd decide to go after first.

But when Dallon approached the front door, nobody jumped out from the front bushes to rip apart their tear-streaked faces. Dallon walked in a few steps before he realized that Ryan wasn't clinging to his arm for dear life anymore, and instead a few feet behind him.

"Ry?" Dallon turned around to see Ryan standing outside the door, his lower lip quivering like a dam before it was about to break. "What's wrong?"

"Why do we even try anymore, Dallon." Ryan's shoulders fell, and not because his bones had given up on holding him up anymore.

Dallon blinked in disbelief. "What are you talking about?"

"Is this even worth it? You keep saying things will get better, but they're only getting worse." Ryan's body slumped even more. "What if I don't want to try anymore? What if... what if I just want to give up?"

The porch light gave Ryan's skin a ghostly glow, highlighting every tired line of his face. His skin looked like a book that had been sent through a paper shredder, eyes ringed with an ashy purple, blood washed off with salty tears that had dried into white scars on his cheeks.

"Ryan..." Dallon whispered softly, throat tightening at the words. He closed the distance between them quickly, stepping out of the door and taking Ryan into his arms in the most miserable hug they'd ever shared. "Ry... oh Ryan..."

Dallon didn't know what to say. If he had any hope left, he'd tell Ryan that things were going to change soon, that one day they could go back to hating each other and bickering like an old married couple. Dallon wanted to recite his script about how Ryan could go back to partying sometime soon, how the sun would reappear from behind its thick smog to shine brightly on them, how one morning Ryan would be able to feed himself with no help.

But Dallon didn't give Ryan any of that junk. Instead, he pulled him closer and hugged him as tight as he could, breathing heavily as the let themselves cry into each other's shoulders.

No more hiding feelings. No more bundling away emotions until they built up so high, Dallon became numb. No more secrets and no more hate.

They wept on that front step until their cries were nothing but trembling knees and grasping hands, basking under the cheap porch light like it was their sun. Dallon never wanted to pull his face from out of Ryan's shoulder, arms wrapped around each other like a promise to never let go, squeezing as firmly as he could without leaving bruises on Ryan's delicate skin.

"I promise." Dallon breathed into Ryan's neck, laughing emptily at the snot he wiped on Ryan's jacket.

"P-Promise what?"

"I promise things will get better, even if the world seems like it's against us." Dallon didn't care that he sounded cheesier than that stupid rom-com they'd seen at the hospital. He was sick of never telling Ryan his real feelings, how much he truly loved him and how much he'd taken their time for granted in the past.

Maybe this entire virus had been some sort of lesson for both of them. Dallon had learned how to cherish Ryan for who he was, and how to show Ryan how much he loved him. Never again would he get senselessly angry at Ryan, especially over something so dumb and so minuscule compared to the virus and the misfortune it brought.

Ryan had learned how to grow up, and how to appreciate the people who loved him instead of the people who never showed up. His dreams had taught him that partying was useless, short-lived pleasure, and losing everything had taught him how much he depended on Dallon for his happiness.

And both of them knew that every little fight wasn't actually about partying, or showing up late, or leaving dirty clothes in the middle of the hallways; the fights had been because of miscommunication, and both of them were terrible about admitting to each other that they were actually in love.

Even if Dallon had trouble saying those three little words sometimes, there were other ways he could say it. And even though Ryan didn't always appreciate what was right in front of him, when the nights grew long and the hours grew thin, he could tell Dallon everything he couldn't in daylight.

"I promise I will do everything in my power to bring the sun back. I promise that I'll take care of you until we grow old, and I promise that I'll do everything I can to help you recover, even if it means stumbling to the hospital at three in the morning." Dallon giggled through his sob, pulling away from Ryan to stare at his equally glassy eyes. The gold was so familiar that Dallon barely saw it anymore, nothing but a crisp circle that lived around the edges of Ryan's dark irises.

"And- and-" Dallon hiccuped, a whimper clawing through his throat as he tried to speak through his cries. He was slowly breaking down again, and from the looks of it, Ryan was too.

"And I- I promise that I'll- I'll always love you, Ryan, even if you're sick," Dallon choked out. "Because I love you, and I love the sick you, and I love the healthy you. And even if you're- even if you're stumbling a-around, and you don't know who I am-"

Dallon whimpered again, all the memories of the undead Ryan resurfacing. Those days spent driving around with him, trying to keep him from eating himself and everyone around him, the thick goo in his eyes and the slow movements.

Dallon even loved him then. Even if that love was clouded by anxiety and despair, Dallon had still loved Ryan when he was nothing more than an animated corpse.

That was what true love was. And if Dallon could love a grey bag of bones, then he could love the drunk Ryan, or the paralyzed Ryan, or the Ryan that ticked him off endlessly.

"I love you- I- I love you Ryan, and I'll love you until the skies turn yellow again." Dallon fell forward into Ryan's arms again, holding him like the gentle wind would rip them apart. Ryan was crying now too, grabbing fistfuls of Dallon's jacket and pulling him as close as he physically could, hugging under the orange porch light.

"Dal- I love you- I don't wanna give up-" Ryan gasped for air between words, sobbing and coughing into Dallon's shoulder. Neither cared if there was any blood coming out— nothing in the world existed at that moment. No virus, no impending doom, no medications or pills or crushing debt.

Nothing but the two of them.

"We're gonna be okay Ryan- we're- we're gonna be okay. I can feel it." Dallon cupped Ryan's chin and kissed him, a kiss so firm and forceful it was a mess of teeth and lips and tongue. But all Ryan cared about was the sureness in Dallon's voice, the strength that had kept him going all these weeks, even when all seemed bleak and dark.

As long as Dallon had that strength, Ryan would be okay. He could be strong for both of them until Ryan was better, if that ever was going to happen.

But they knew it would. They knew that one day, they would kiss without the tears, beneath the real sun instead of their crappy porch light that flickered when moths swarmed it.

They knew that everything was going to be okay.

They knew.

And when that day would come, and Dallon would pick Ryan up and swing him around, they'd dance through their kitchen and let the sun fill their hearts with hope and euphoria.

Even if that day was in months— years, even— Dallon could wait until then.

Because until then, he had the best job in the world.

Showing Ryan just how much he loved him.

**\- END -**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the end!!
> 
> listen, i really liked this fic, but im a bit glad it's over. it was taking me forever to write the ending and i just can't wait to post my new one,, (which has been technically written for five months but never posted- oops) keep an eye out tomorrow night for it!!
> 
> first off, thank you for reading to the end, and thank you for waiting so patiently!! i promise i'll try to be more consistent with my upload schedule from now on, until exam season rolls around of course.
> 
> leave a comment to let me know what you thought of the whole story!! i always check my phone when i wake up, and i love seeing the emails telling me that someone has commented <3
> 
> thank you all so much!! now, as i always say, i'll see you again, on another page of the internet :) <3


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